What it Means to Live


Life is like a big long story,
A story of suffering and glory.
To suffer is to live yes,
But is it worth all the turmoil to become the; ‘best’?

The beast shouts I at the heart of the world,-
But what a world we live in for something so shrewd, to be so knurled.
“Till death do us part” -the wedding vows hymn,
But what does it mean to endure something so grim.

To live is to die in a quite ardent way,
But everyday that goes by means another person displayed-, in a great wood coffin six feet under the ground, for none to see nor hear shudder nor shout, from the cold, hard body of someone that once walked about.

Does life have meaning,
Or is it an end to a means by which we continue feeling, beating, bleeding,
Until one day we fall at the knees-and beg god to let us plead-
Our case to him, to let us in heaven or hell,
But nothing happens to no avail.

For there is no god in this cold, twisted world,
And there is no heaven in this dead, sickened world.
We are in a living hell, from every word that we breath,
To the final resting day, when we are declared deceased.