The Right To Choose
If you fall
50 feet
From a building of your choice
Would it hurt as much
As when you fall
From despair into happiness?
And would the moment
When you lose consciousness
Be as frighteningly calm
As the instant
Just before you hit sleep?
And would the white light
Be as attractive as
The darkness of a guilty secret?
Would the dullness of purgatory
Be as tensely relieving
As waiting at the dentist's,
to have your tooth pulled?
Would the flight of gilded wings
Match the speed and power
of free fall
from your specially chosen building?
Can eternal rest in the light
Be as challenging as a day
of life-changing choices?
Can constant harmonious harp-playing
Be as soul-moving as one moment of pure rock?
Can Heaven ever be alive?
Then why worship death?
A/N: I'm not actually a Christian. In fact, I think that Christianity, especially the Bible, has a lot of inconsistencies, and that a lot of people use it for their own gain by tricking gullible people into buying products/sending to programs that are 'endorsed by God'. However, I'm not trying to knock it right now. You don't bible-bash me, I don't axe you. It works.
I just wrote this one night when I was thinking about death (as you do) and then suicide, and then life. I'd earlier been watching a show about Christianity, and I couldn't understand how Christians could say that everything bad that happened to them on earth was O.K, because there was this great experience waiting for them in Heaven. I actually agree that bad stuff can be good, because it adds flavor to life, and you can't understand what love and happiness are if you never experience anger and sadness. But I was wondering how this kind've eternal calm, goody-goody existence up in Heaven could ever be fun, and if that was really what people wanted from Heaven. And if it wasn't, then why don't we just never die, and stay on earth where everything is so alive. That was kind've the idea behind this poem, but it can be interpreted any way you want.
Anyhoo, I don't actually like the style I've written this poem in, and if you want to discuss the style, cool. Flame it if you want (I don't see what's to flame, but anyhoo...), although flames are tiresome and will just be added to the yearbook to be laughed at. Alright, I think I've covered everything. Oh, and if you want to give me an answer to my question-y things, that would be great. But what I'd really like is what you initially thought the poem was about.
So, R&R.
*So ends the worlds longest author's note ever, on any plane of existence, ever.*