thoughts on this poetry.

I think that it is so sad, so sad that a lot of people don’t see the depth of death. It’s sad, it means work. They see the effects, not the cause. Sad is happy for deep people, to quote one of the saddest of all. Sad has so many subsections of its own, and is the main emotion one thinks of when one thinks death. But it is not the only emotion. So many implications and connotations dance in the very back of my eyelids. Death is beautiful, even in its sadness, and if you do not believe that sadness can be beautiful, stop reading right now and go do something else.
There is nothing about death that is one dimensional, nothing at all. There is probably nothing about it that is two-dimensional, either. It is black and white the way roses are black and white: with so many different hues in between. Death could be happy, sad, confusing – all three at once. Being more specific it could be melancholy, or nostalgic, or still confusing. You think birth is more beautiful, more poetic? You think that it is better? You think death is black and inevitable and depressing? Have you ever known someone who willingly embraced death? I think not.
There is a poetry in death that is unspeakable. The eternity, the solidity of it. Who knows, maybe humans have it all wrong. Maybe birth is supposed to be black and death supposed to be white. Maybe death was never supposed to be depressing at all, because though the end draws near, its the remaining pieces of a puzzle falling into place. It’s finally the bigger picture, except no one will ever see the entire picture.
It’s poetry.

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