REST
It is said a change is as good as a rest,
So how far from normal does one have to walk,
To get to say they’ve got to experience,
What “final rest” feels like?
Is it like coming to terms with the fact,
That we all die and not seeming to decide,
If death is just a promiscuous lover,
Or a heart that is overflowing with love?
They say days will pass us by,
Count them and learn to live life,
Like the next step would lead us,
Right to death’s doorstep,
It is morbid to roll between fingers,
The acceptance of this fate,
As if when the sun is up,
We aren’t grasping at life with these very hands,
So we could take this paper and pen,
Ink down all the promises we give tomorrow,
Roll it up neatly, kiss it and smoke it,
Let the ash fill our lungs with disappointment,
Look at winter and how she teases,
No one knows if like her there comes spring after,
And so we believe in what we believe,
If it means we don’t disappear from hearts,
But maybe that’s where true rest is,
When we fail to torment the hearts and minds,
That we leave behind and finally close our eyes,
In the sweet relief of oblivion.
~Frankhie
