Why wouldn't death be so beautiful?
It's a sacred refugee to every dutiful.
Gratitude to what?
Passage of air which suffocates the teat.
Tired, exhausted and what not.
Rage of hatred and craving thought;
the battle of an incompetent knight,
twirls around and stars in sight.
Overwhelmed with those gut-wrenching sunsets.
Your day will come and other prophets.
Wouldn't death be a beautiful refuge?
but then what will cater the younger self,
who cried and died over the shelf.
That maybe one day for sure,
they won't be blind anymore to shimmer so pure.
Alas the sun might never rise,
since the spark won't ever be suffice.

© bhavya_sheisvintage