Imagine you wake up tomorrow morning
to discover you died in your sleep,
yet, not necessarily last night,
which immediately elicits fear
of time, Mind and dimension,
and the notion that your mortal life
may have been one long ongoing dream
until Death interrupted the patterns
of REM and the images seen from above-
yourself, in sleep, but are you really?
And, redirecting your course, your destiny,
Death takes your soul to another plane,
after washing your mind of memory-
of all that transpired....on your prior plane,
as you question how, then, could you know
that you died...Yet that's how this all started,
which proceeds to establish a sense of frenzy,
and envelops you in your fear of dimensions,
and so on and so forth, forever and ever.
Is it all becoming clear,
think of the dynamics.
You have the answer in the echo
of your journey incomplete,
as it will always be.
Yes, it's true, can you hear
the bell of dread tolling?
That's right... You're in Hell!
FjR-2015
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem