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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1906473-Questions---Six-Feet-Under
Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #1906473
A brief imagination of a person contemplating about existence in his/her grave.
I have no more questions,
It is the answers I have now.
Let me flex my brief past
As much as I am allowed.

The fading footsteps I hear
Is a taunt or perhaps the final goodbye.
I am cradled in "my" own soil,
No Lord left to defy.

My bones, my hair, my smile
Are now One with the Earth.
The echo is all that's left,
My soul as it welcomes rebirth.

What was it that I left behind?
What was my purpose then?
I cannot have so easily found God
While I walked amongst foolish men.

How did I know all the rules?
How did I know which to break?
Now that I should be sleeping,
Why am I suddenly awake?

So many words and so many thoughts,
Led me to this it seems.
So many days and so many plans,
Now seem like childish schemes.

Is the weight of the earth on me?
Or is it Sin and Guilt and Truth?
Where is the lightness of my soul?
Did it pass with my fleeting youth?

I am in sleep, or so I should believe,
But I have never felt so alive.
Here the journey starts I think,
I wonder when I should arrive.

I have lied again, questions remain,
Of penance and the solace I crave.
But I must wait, for the Angels come,
To question me first in my grave.
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