The cycle of living,
Starts with an awakening birth,
And develops a rhythm from a child to adulthood,
An effortless blossoming,
Where the natural progression,
Leads to growth,
Our duty here takes nurture,
In harnessing a lively becoming,
And for some into something,
Others turn into nothing,
Just the stuff we deal with,
In the reality of living.
But when age catches up,
And our body stops growing,
The former bloom that started from the beginning,
And we spend money,
Paying medical bills,
Until goodbye welcomes us into her arms,
And we bid our farewells,
As our affair with life,
Now ends in death,
An either or of dying,
A beautiful and tragic,
Now with this fact,
Placed to our face,
Of a scripted breathing,
That will eventually welcome death,
Do we soak it in like a sponge?
Avoiding the task of interpretation?
Living as though accepting death,
The only workable reality?
Do we then raise our white flags,
Even before bullets starts blazing,
As that in war,
In the futile effort,
To spell out defeat,
Even before the dark existence,
We will soon meet?
But before we inhale the fumes,
From a freshly picked cigarette,
And read into the fate infused script,
That reads a life that will eventually embrace death,
Let us for this moment,
Start to dream dreams,
Infused with childlike curiosity,
Take up our inherent youthful passion,
To breath into a purposeful rebellion,
And probe meaning in a death wish becoming,
Something of a life now worth living.
For “we cannot be sure of having something to live for unless we are willing to die for it.”
Note: This poem was inspired by the last part, which is a quote by Che Guevara. It’s sort of my poetic interpretation of what he said, and then using the quote as the final piece to everything I wrote. A purposeful death wish is having something worth living.