Not Yet My Time


Death: the most natural
And common event in the universe,
Yet forsakes us all perplexed.
To begin means to end,
And to end means to begin—
To whatever comes next.

I know not, and will not
Know of what is to come:
But I also fear not
Such a predictable event,
That will someday lead
To my final resting spot.

I am not afraid of hell,
I know it does not exist.
Hell is what I make
From the life I am given,
Unless I find happiness—
For my own sake.

I don’t wish to go to heaven,
And the thought of an afterlife
Makes me extremely horrified.
It is enough to look at the universe,
And all of its wonders,
To keep me satisfied.

I cannot conceive of any God
(Good or not);
Angels and eternal beings;
Anything that lives,
But dies—never?
Honestly, I would not mind
Living a little longer—
But not forever.

One thing I know for certain—
I am not ready to die.
At least, not yet!
I don’t mind dying,
As long as I never leave behind
Anything as much as a regret.

And so, in the meantime,
I write these words
In rhythm and rhyme,
While still in youth—
Thankfully, because
It is not yet my time.

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