If we've led a full life,
why do we fear death?
Why not like diners
fully-feasted, who've
simply risen from the table,
and left?
But if life is truly
wretched, why do we
long for more?
Wouldn't it better be
an end,
than endless days
we abhor?
Half the time we sleep
the other half we dream,
eyes wide open, never
seeing without some planning,
some scheme.
So we really have
never lived, and
now we fear to die?
Remember,
that perhaps life's a gift
but only for awhile.
12/27/10
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