|What Must It Be Like? (standard:poetry, 207 words)|
|Author: cryptic||Added: Apr 30 2001||Views/Reads: 1633/0||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
What must death be like? Constantly coasting, clinging to a convoy of cavernous clouds, trying to keep clawing our way through the unclutchable cotton to continue on a fruitless search for contentment; Fear clenching our chests that a worse calamity awaits our bodies if we release ourselves into the roaring, roasting regions below which will ravage all remants of our raging reality? Or forever fumbling, floundering in the foamy, fuming seas trying to stay afloat,foolishly, yet ferociously, feeling for the funnel to follow it back to relive our foibles, a feeble attempt at finding felicity? Or will we relentlessly ramble down the roads of our past, unseen now by real eyes, as we restlessly ride round and around, racing towards an unreachable release of our pain? But how would that be so different from life? They seem almost the same; parallels perhaps, with the perpetual contact and connections with causes and choices, those continuous calamities that condemn us to a living death while we remain tenuously tethered in a tangle through tortured turns until this tassle wears thin and we tumble to that poisonous place where we can slither in solitude through the same scenarios; silence our only solace of the seemingly endless seasons of our suffering. Tweet
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