We don't die easy
Like sunbeams,
at sunset.
Like an ant,
crushed.
We're slow,
lazy even here,
at dying.
We beckon it,
death.
It dallies,
drags its feet,
turns away,
returns,
retreats,
relishing each moment,
of our waiting.
We don't die easy.
We, the forsaken.
Salvation,
forbidden on us.
Ripped from our bodies,
we wander,
abandoned,
begging the sands,
to carry us,
beseeching the winds,
to blow us,
to some haven.
We don't die easy.
Like dreams,
in a moment.
Like a vase,
broken.
We crumble,
bit by bit,
like civilizations,
at the mercy of time.
We decay,
flesh by flesh,
like rotting logs,
at the hands of saprophytes.
We don't die easy...
Yet counts that less,
than what it breeds.
Yes hurts that less,
than what it spawns...
We can't live easy.
- Aug 12th, '08.
But to the dead,
does it matter?
That the dying -
die slow?
Do they recall it?
the pain -
of not dying easy?
Can they feel it?
the hurt -
of not living easy?
Why wonder?
The pain -
the goddamned pain,
of not living easy...
We, the living.
We wonder not,
for curiosity,
but for hope,
of deliverance.
Long-sought Eden.
At long last, succour.
Life,
or Death!
- Aug 13th, '08.
Helpless,
hopeless,
we gnaw at our fingers,
claw out our eyes,
plead...
We still don't die easy.
- Aug 17th, '08
