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
â„— Philosophistication Poetry â„—
2020 All Rights Reserved ©
Brotherhood of Death
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