Life is replete with misery
Death bathes in peace
Isin't love of life therefore
Like loving a dreaded disease.
Compared to sorrow, the joys of life
Are minuscule by far.
Yet we savor the insignificant delights
Etched in memory, standstill as the Northern Star
All this is an illusion
Everything that we see
It may please our senses
But the truth it can never be
Life after death!
Could Death deal me such a blow
It ends life - it must!!!
True peace, how else shall I know?
NOTE: Written when I was probably pretty depressed.. no idea when
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