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,
Valhalla,
Reincarnation,
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.