Death is relative
I’m sure Einstein would agree
His death we do not miss
But Einstein’s life
Impacted nearly all.
Some are thankful, I am sure
His kids or wife
May think sad thoughts
And I’m sure he knows that
His ex-wife cursed him
Although maybe not his deeds
Which she herself
May have helped the world to see.
It all depends he’d say.
It all depends fo
Death can be good and
Death can be bad
Depending on perspective
Of those who are
The living, the dying and the unborn.
Sometimes we long for death
When at death’s bed.
For the approach
Like when strung with tubes
And the like
When body has long given up
And would have been dead
If it were not
For modern day extenders
Of a wretched life
The blood suckers
Who are paid for every hour
You are wrongfully alive.
There are those,
Who cannot bear the thought
That a loved one might depart
They cannot bear the moment
When death shall come
And they won’t be able
To look the beloved
In the eye
Then there are those
Who are not yet born
Who would have loved to have a memory
Of father from experience of their own.
Then there are wives and husbands
Who by their lover had been scorned
Or evil tyrants who kidnapped and had killed
Millions of innocents and yet
They may have those they had tried to kill
But marked for death survived and lived
And tyrants scorn death and life
Of those who cause them
Death, death strikes us to the core
When we listen to an unfinished music score
When we see a painting by an artist
Who by untimely death left an unfinished life
There are kids who never had a chance at kids
And grown ups
Who never should have had their own.
There are children whose life had been
By parents who were not ready for a life
And so, regrettably, brought death
Upon their own.
Death, was the savior of their life
Life, would have meant the death
Of all their hopes and dreams.
A child’s life,
Means a mother’s death
And thus a child’s death
Shall be result to keep a mother’s life.
For some a life
Resembles purgatory death,
Neither awake nor sleeping,
Robotic actions of a being with a beating heart
But missing soul.
What is life we ask?
Is it something that can die,
Then surely all machines are living
For all machines shall one day cease to work.
Is it then thought?
There have been many humans who
Had not experienced a single moment
Of what we’d consider mental work
And what we consider thought
Multiplication, calculus, and physics
Reserved for the greatest of the human minds
Computers do with dancer’s grace.
Is it adaptability? Desire to propagate and live?
What is a man depressed
Who takes a step from a tall bridge
With no desire
To make a life or continue his?
What is this tree of life
That one day surely has to die?
What is this tree that with life brings us
What was it before it sprang first leaf?
Is sorrow for a friend
Pain of child gone
Departing with no goodbye.
Death is happiness
Of tyrant gone
Of life well lived
And death well done.
Life, death, birth and living
All encompassed in one ball of yarn
Like subatomic particles
Emerging in a flash
And gone without a trace.
A single trace across the space and time
A child, a bridge, a book,
No mark at all…..
to Alison Matela