To Be Birds of a Feather

Lange ⌘ Farmer
Lange ⌘ Farmer

The question prevailing life,
a question of who’s free,
the existence or lack thereof,
is it worse to be or not to be?

Is a saint to subject himself to sitting silently,
while forfeiting his freedom to the fatal destiny?
Or should he attempt to stand up,
and fight the force,
that writes the plans and designs the course?
And even then, the sea of discontent flows endlessly,
Does the trouble end with death?
Or does one wake again within a new reality?

To never sleep again, One hopes death to be,
A final destination for slumbering minds,
Not a dream within a dream.

Once done with the pains and chains attached to the physical body,
I dream of rest, a pause, to freely breathe deeply.
Wanting, yet not sure when, death will come in the end,
but how will it greet? Will it greet at all?
The unknown makes the mind choose to stagnate and stall,
Slowly losing actions course,
If souls are in constant returning motion,
Let the memory of past sin,
be held behind doors open.

* A paraphrase of Hamlet’s “To be, or not to be”
Hamlet, by William Shakespeare
Act III, Scene I

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