Ride

Death is a white man with alabaster skin,
pretty blonde hair,
un-calloused hands
and eyes grey as a monsoon sky.

I met him just last week
In a dream where old friends became strangers
and god was nowhere to be found.

Death was a man
and there was no fire, no streets paved in gold,
nothing waiting for me-
just a polite gentleman with a black Cadillac
ready to take me on my last ride.

He opened the door to the back and led me in,
whispering secrets I could not comprehend and
answering the questions that were running amuck in my mind.
Then he closed my coffin shut and all I knew was darkness.
There I lay,
as I felt the car move at blinding speeds on a curved road
much like the ones back home.

I wondered why my last ride was so miserable,
But then I heard him say it was for the best.
It was better for me to feel and not see
The life I passed by.
So that when we reached,
my heart would be free
to turn to dust and
return to nothingness.
For suddenly I remembered all the people I loved
And all ones I hated
And in that moment, I did not care anymore.
I became free.
Free to approach annihilation.
Free to die.

You see,
Love is strange. But, death is stranger.

Picture taken from – http://www.pinterest.com

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One comment

  1. Reblogged this on 5 Feet Tall and commented:

    I recently had a dream I died and that made me think and reflect on the transience of life. Isn’t it crazy that one moment we exist and we matter to some extent and the next moment can just be gone? This is a poem I wrote reflecting on death and its mysteries…

    Liked by 1 person

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