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Melancholy.

DarkRPGplayer34
Community Member

Posted: Fri Nov 23, 2007 @ 03:57am

2 comments


	A Poem... I dont know if this is a poem but oh well.. DEATH... Death is unthinkable.. Its sometimes forgetful... people forget about Death sometimes.. people start to think.. some wonder how we die... do we go to heaven?.. Do we go to hell?... Some dont know if theres a heaven or hell.. Death is wonder mind... people wonder how they die.... what will happen after we die.. people think we live forever... when we die... we are remove from the earth... or people's souls are replace.... do we get to live again... do we just die... or do we live forever... Death is an enternal slumber... or is it just sleeping forever.... Do people reborn.. you meet your grandmother again.. or just see a visual. is it your mind... or your fatyh... Death is something to think about right?

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User Comments: [2]

bndgrl1lm
Community Member

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Fri Nov 23, 2007 @ 05:57pm

Yea, its not a very great poem, but I like your message.

And the thing about atheists is.....I worry for them, because when I'm on my deathbed I can think, "Now I'm moving on into Heaven. This isn't the end, it's just the beginning."

But for atheists, they think all that's left is dirt and worms, if ya know what I mean.

I will smile.
But they will cry.

~*ZELL*~

bndgrl1lm
Community Member

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Fri Nov 23, 2007 @ 07:21pm

Death is what we await,
We do not mourn until the fatality of our reminescence.
We cry, we plead
that the days will last eternally,
but the reality is.....
there could be miles to go before we sleep.

The unknown to be questioned,
Heaven or Hell, existence or none,
the dissipations of what we once cared for,
Will it be gone,
or chip at our hearts all the more?

Or will a spirit
forever haunt the broken memories of our lives,
or just a lasting effect, an imprint in time?
At the love we never once had,
Or wandering the places we once belonged
or where the wrong turn was,
and just why you might find.

And how to interpret the judgments of life?
Through the deeds we do,
or handling strife?
How we spent the warm summers,
or dealt the cold nights,
or how we worked with our backs
bleeding from the rich man's knife.

Life to be debated,
as a continuum between reality and dreams,
the fight between cultures
of which one was right.
Our lives torn and sewn at the seams
here is the plight,
revelations will come like a thief in the night.
I promise they'll come like a thief in the night.

Tis meh poem. About yours.
and a stanza just for you.
here ya go.

I am sorry Danny,
that you cannot write poetry,
Maybe if Alfred stops stripping,
you can really focus,
and write a poem for me.:]

~*ZELL*~

User Comments: [2]

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