Death as a certainty. How ironic is it for folks who wrote about death succumbed to it eventually. One day you wake up and yesterday is just not there as it is, something has changed the putrid smell gets in to your nose, your brain suddenly alarms your entire body. But there is nothing to do. In the eyes you see your reflection. You know that you are the next. Idiocratic will be the only feeling that goes through your mind, ignorance is bliss. Ignorance prevents you to sense the world like a human being, restrains you to feel. That is what death is, considered otherworldly yet blatant, pure reality.
Death, another name for certainty,
Death, Trying to pass through it,
Death, that nobody knows of,
Death, who introduces itself,
at the end of the very time,
every time.
Ironic it is, for folks who wrote about it,
Succumbed eventually to it.
Ineluctable acts of running away from it,
Resulted nothing but only with death itself,
at the end of very time
every time
No there is no prophecy to it,
Nor the end of the tunnel is pitch black.
Accept your fate and embrace it,
Death is the only acceptance you will ever feel,
Death will be the only one who will accept you.
Winds fly by as they haven’t witnessed so much funerals,
as they haven’t witnessed so much crying eyes,
as they haven’t known the truth the whole time.
So let me tell you what is going to happen
