08-07-2013, 08:37 PM
As I look upon the black velvet,
I sense my diminishing silhouette.
Encompassment of my very content,
Has never made me feel this impotent.
I succumb to the relentless phobia,
Of what lies across the afterlife.
As it stirs up a cauldron of rampant hysteria,
Cluster of thoughts permeate me, causing strife.
What happens to one's cadaver,
As it lies under where people saunter?
Its fingers may not twitch,
But what happens to the spirit's switch?
Such of Heaven, Purgatory and Hell,
Where would my spirit dwell?
If such spaces are non-fictious,
Take me to Heaven, oh God, who's glorious.
Let not the year, month and date
Decide my unknown fate.
Significant, I will be, before I cross the gate.
Act on deeds, before it becomes too late.
I wrote this a while ago when my grandmother died, just made me think about what happens after passing. Ever since, I've started writing poetry, I don't even know if I'm good at all at it, so please send me some thoughts about this piece of writing. Thank you!
I sense my diminishing silhouette.
Encompassment of my very content,
Has never made me feel this impotent.
I succumb to the relentless phobia,
Of what lies across the afterlife.
As it stirs up a cauldron of rampant hysteria,
Cluster of thoughts permeate me, causing strife.
What happens to one's cadaver,
As it lies under where people saunter?
Its fingers may not twitch,
But what happens to the spirit's switch?
Such of Heaven, Purgatory and Hell,
Where would my spirit dwell?
If such spaces are non-fictious,
Take me to Heaven, oh God, who's glorious.
Let not the year, month and date
Decide my unknown fate.
Significant, I will be, before I cross the gate.
Act on deeds, before it becomes too late.
I wrote this a while ago when my grandmother died, just made me think about what happens after passing. Ever since, I've started writing poetry, I don't even know if I'm good at all at it, so please send me some thoughts about this piece of writing. Thank you!
