To Death, I Deny

Where are the times when we'd laugh and we'd play 
Hopeful and free from the tarot we lay? 
Designed so imperfect, yet seeing so clear,
How we make all our minds up, and knowing no fear.

 
Where are the moments when truth was so right,
And just for one dream we would stand up and fight? 
All this lost and forgotten like tastes long decayed
And skin having wrinkled and hair all gone frayed.

Now is the time when we call on those thoughts 
And now we will miss all those tangles and knots 
That would give us such meaning and so much more will 
To seek what we look for and give us such thrill.

 
In life we must cherish, 

In life we must die 
But if dying was life made, then death I deny. 

Reviews

[Perkele.7885]

I like poems like yours that state a message so clear for all who wish to read and thus hear it! Dying is not a product of life, whether the life be long or short. Dying is a happenstance that takes place at the end of a life as a rite of passage to our next reward. So, dying was not made by you or I, our time comes when it comes!