tell me,
will anything matter
in the long run?
what will the beauty mean
when you’re dead, gone and buried
six feet under?
or poetry,
loyalty,
dignity?
do you really think
it will be of value
to the worms?
mind is immortal.
hatred is immortal.
despair lasts forever
when you have
an eternity to fill.
justice?
since when were the living
just to the dead?
since when did the living
care?
dying is merely
a statement
of helplessness.
it’s a cry for help
coming from the mute lips.
voiceless.
that’s what you’ll be
the very minute
your breath stops.
breathless.
invisible.
unimportant.
and don’t let them fool you
with declarations of love.
in death,
you’re a name
and a couple of dates.
they’ll get rid of you
as you do of garbage -
thoughtlessly.
mercilessly.
automatically.
life gives you voice.
death takes it away.
the only voice that will echo
in the shadow of the tomb
is the voice
of memory.
will it all be of value
to you then?
don’t be a fool.
make it matter
while you’re here
make your voice
resonate in their brains
so that nothing shuts it up
when you’re gone.
take this advice -
willingly given
by an immortal mind.
carpe diem.
carpe noctem.
seize your life.
NOW.
before it’s too late.
Well said! Make every minute count.
There’s such a haunting beauty in the way you dismantle comfort and force the reader to confront what we so often avoid: that our time is finite, and meaning isn’t handed to us.