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Memento mori, the beauty of

falling, find a grave where your

timeless yawning silences and there’s

a beautiful morning beyond that

daunting flaw of needing oxygen

to be part of the agony, now slide into the

unknown, the world of the dead

or the most living, this isn’t some

form of leaving, it’s a form of

reaching that which mystified

most and left hundreds drooling

and weeping on top of sacred floors.

Now take a scone and a cup of your

tears, think of the days of your

scorn, your anxiousness, your broken

state, that emotional taste of

bitter sorrow and stale cooked

samp, it all lacks sense and worth,

we died a second late, we died

in the previous statements, let

us state what is meant by being

slaves of breath and prodigal sons

and daughters of death, unravel

earth, your skin is the divine merch,

where we hide our grotesque physical

beings with no understood breadth,

now break bread with the homeless

man, a cup of tea, drink your misery

and smile at the future fact of

you dying one day, no fears just

acknowledging that we live just

to reach destiny and pass it on

to probable new slaves, those with sentiments

and whatever they are to crave,

for centuries we have delve into

mass graves, from the roots of the

grass we tasted the sunsets and

sunrises that broke the mantle

of the earth.


Kiss your lover goodnight or maybe

goodbye, sleep might steal them

in the pitch of the night, a beautiful

misery, death is no treachery, life

is a mercenary selling our experiences

for memories and granting death

an empty shell with just decay

grooming forth, there’s a dead

body buried underneath your homes,

those who left thousand and hundreds

years ago, it’s a beauty, a sad beauty

we live by and have to grin about

when we understand it’s logic,

death is a brooding grump with

a crooked smile, nature has nurtured

our cultures to die within time as

we die with every decay within

our skeletal outlines, breath is tithe,

pay nature for what she gave to us,

is there to be the judgement of

feather against heart, run towards

the dimming light my Beautiful

living night, in this life no knight

shall save without some spiritual

significance being a general stance.

Live with a smile my dying lover,

breath is an inaudible goodbye that

I breathe out loud everytime, life isn’t

a crime, enjoy your lifespan, soon

you shall taste your deathspan,

hold the sun in your smiles, run

towards divinity; for logic eats

us within our deeper insides, cry,

scream, say the name of that child

lost in the unknown, that father and

mother, that sibling too young to

be let alone in the decay of his/her

bone, mop your tears with your

palms, let your hands feel what it

is afraid to let loose, lest you choose

to live allow the other to live beyond

your bounds of reason.


Now follow the stoic and the existential

druids, those who have glanced through

the peep-hole and have seen the

Black Hole, we’re not whole, the hole

within us is that which death fills,

our roles are unfulfilled till we

play the last role of being a corpse,

now kiss I with that false hope

within your lips for death has been foretold,

now read less statistics and be bold

enough to grasp Ernest Becker and

Friedrich Nietzsche and grow bald.


By Eugene ‘Philosophisticater’


Artwork by Tomasz Alen Kopera


℗ Philosophistication Poetry ℗


2020 All Rights Reserved ©

Brotherhood of Death


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