When I no longer hear my surroundings,
When I no longer can see the different colors that make life and instead see either the dark or light,
When I no longer give out carbon dioxide and pollute this Earth,
Does that mean I’ve managed to fly to the moon?
Where sound cannot be transmitted.
Where it’s difficult to breathe.
Can I safely say that I’ve lived another life just to be given a second chance on my favorite planet?
Can you tell me Death is still not here yet?
The dead do not speak but through the retold stories of those who knew them.
The dead live through the memories of those who still breathe.
Death is like an hourglass,
Reaching its last drop,
Flip it around and you’ll witness Life elsewhere.
Did you even leave room for any?
Like Death, you swept in taking my soul so suddenly,
giving no chance for any last thoughts.
Like Death, you shut the door of life, of light,
and buried me in the dark with no air –
sound had no medium to be transported.
Any last words?
No, not for your ears to hear at least
Every time they come knocking on my door,
I kick them out,
They come barging in like its their territory,
and I drag them out like garbage bags.
They enter and trespass, and I’m the one who’s charged for ignorance.
The judge sides with them, and I know Life is the name of that judge.
Death befriends me, knowing we’ll be companions soon.
I’m given a deal to admit that whoever’s pressing charges exists,
in return I’ll live peacefully and they’ll let me go.
They’ll be like germs. Everywhere.
I throw the deal at their despicable faces,
and they beat me up till I bleed. Pain.
They want to inflict pain.
Pain is what I’m made of, idiots.
You threaten me, but I won’t budge.
I won’t welcome the emotions that I won’t admit.
I’d rather live in a cell alone than confirm that they exist.
I took a chance,
and closed my eyes.
I fell right from the edge
of all seven skies.
And I have safely landed
on the rugged ground,
alone and unbound.
I could have sworn
I saw a man.
But all I see now is myself
in this shadowed land.
Barefooted on a coarse
and thorny earth.
If I bleed crimson roses
I will endure and rebirth.
(Note: this piece is a continuation to “Just When”, a poem I wrote on January)