You are born of paper and pen.
You live within a world of static,
Your life broadcasted across the web.
You pass on into a world where you are not alone.
You look back with full eyes and a heavy heart.
You move on into the next life with a sense of almost hope.
You are allowed the opportunity to see those you never got the chance to say goodbye to…
… but this is the real world.
Each faith has its flaws,
preaching their afterlife
as the true and mighty one.
Heaven or Hell,
an empty void.
Each answer sparks another question.
Each question can never be answered.
You have every answer at your fingertips,
and I will never be blessed
with the curse of knowledge.
I will never know if I will burn or soar.
I will never know if I will rot or reincarnate.
I will never know if I will live among the stars.
I will never know if I will see my family again.
By the time I find out, it will be too late.
I have been staring the answer in the face
for as long as I have been alive,
reaching out an open hand,
begging someone to pull me in
and let me drown.
Now I stand here,
tears streaming down
while you stream on TV.
You know where you will go.
As much as I loathe you for moving on
when I am still clutched in Grief's hand,
I am grateful that I am stuck
on the spinning rock in the ether,
oblivious to my inconceivable post-mortem future
and praying that I will see those I've lost
one more time before I succumb
to the finale I have yet to endure.