Just like a hanging grape onto a twig,
That never is to ripe, but putrefy,
Let storm prevail, sweep off the rotten fruit!
When life goes wrong, demise gets sudden wry.
How come that spirit is the first to shrink,
(A garland wilted on the mantelpiece of life)
And why a crooked mouth is capable of speaking,
Well, it’s all about triumphant death and strife.
I say to thee, poor drifter of the void,
(Entrapped between a future and a past)
Companion of those who end up tough,
Far from the vivid, and far from the aghast.
No difference if you linger or you die,
The timing of the death is all that counts.
As for the one who fails this ruthless norm,
He’d better not emerge into this life!
"We are going to die, and that makes us the lucky ones. Most people are never going to die because they are never going to be born." - Richard Dawkins