The door is there, why not open it and cross to the other side? be the one that decides? be the one that enters the void where no promises or dreams were ever there? after they told you...will you go to obediently stay in front of that final door and wait? why?

Too twisted to understand, feelings ambiguity
of tormented and nightmares producing thoughts,
why all the life’s mirrors so easily can give a lie,
is the truth, to be reflected in silver, so little worth?
The angel whispered in your ear, and then left you
standing with indecision in front of that final door.

Between you and the door’s embossments will be
passing by, Nam faces of tunnel men showing terror,
as you were the last they saw, the angel of death that
didn’t let them to have one last scream, a tormentor
appearing from nowhere, unexpected, feared, cruel,
like an avenger from an angry and unmerciful God.

Life’s end, the unpredictable road without a friend,
man get detached of many things when getting old,
years are suffocating when coming in great numbers
giving to the will of living not a wish, not anymore,
the little spark that became a roaring consuming fire
will not be leaving ashes behind, just a smear of soot.

Looking back, realizing that it is true what they said
“man have no one coming from nowhere when born”
with an outraged cry when been forcefully yanked
from a quasi existence into a life you never asked for,
accumulating incomprehensible knowledge, but
understanding that alone you came and alone you will go.

Futility of man, existence like that of a banana fly,
inconsequential flying, just about hours twenty four,
we try to convince ourselves that we matter to Universe,
we are a spec of dust which only can be seen by God,
because against the immensity of all the eternity
our time here can be measured only by a Divine clock.

And they will say, “here was a man once upon a time,
that never had a friend, and walked all his life alone,
like the sparrow from Paris he didn’t regretted nothing
and obediently when the punches came he did try to roll,
becoming the unknown, the one going by leaving
never a reflection of his face, no mirror was that worth.

Oh yes! Back we are at the life’s final gates, the exit,
perhaps deluding yourself, behind it is something more,
but having the pockets so full of miserable years, you
will not give a damn after the Reaper the lights switch off,
because you will be letting go a demented laugh of happiness
as you into that eternal darkness let yourself to fall.