Knowing

Never more have I questioned my own existence than now:
the practicality of it all lost within uncertainty to me.
In the darkness of the night I sit and ponder ones true meaning
and how ones soul may make true attribute to its life.
Why now then should I be here then, to remain
unconditioned and unacquainted to such destiny for my own well being?
To remain so worries me tremendously, for I believe I have begun to lose control.
My body lays intact as does most of the parts that lay inside it,
but I’ve commenced such a notion that my mind may find darkness within.

It is this that has sent me into delirium with anticipation for the end I know to come.
Whether it be soon or terribly unexpected, I care for neither;
I’d rather keep myself as each symptom may come to find its way past,
allowing an false hopefully faith that one day perhaps I’ll be cured.
Like a curse this haunting will forever be within me:
it may become forgotten, but it will always be there.

And so, I ponder here tonight, listening to the crickets lullaby,
of what such a destiny may behold of me:
one who shall surrender to the darkness, like a saintly martyr to their cross.
Then again, what will remain here after me?
I’d rather not think my soul to become forgotten and lost.
But, perhaps instead society may learn that was held tight within,
and become much greater and knowledgeable for it.
My disappearance will contain, instead of the guilty sorrows, grief, and pains,
instead will perceive with a ghostly voice from the grave
speaking and teaching life lessons to all willing to hear.

It is this that has sent me into delirium with anticipation for the end I know to come.
Whether it be soon or terribly unexpected, I care for neither;
I’d rather keep myself as each symptom may come to find its way past,
allowing a false hopeful faith that one day perhaps I’ll be cured.
Like a curse this haunting will forever be within me:
it may become forgotten, but it will always be there.

Comments

samueltfranklin

This strikes me as a suitably moody "memento mori" poem--a reflection upon one's existence, an anticipation of the darkness at the end of life's path. You strike a pensive chord throughout the poem's body, but balance out thoughtful moodiness with phrases which demand to be read frantically: the "delirium of anticipation," "for I believe I have begun to lose control." This phrases point towards movement--either of the narrator's or the impending future. Either way, the tone and structure of the poem is quite accomplished.

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