'' We Don't Want To Die '' Poem by Bri Mar

I've took that last breath,
Could this be death?
Consciously how will I know?
I've never smoked or taken meth,
This could well come as a blow.

What will I feel?
Will it have an appeal?
As dying is so uncouth,
Could it be this life is surreal?
Can anyone tell us the truth?

As intelligent creatures,
We are our own teachers,
Who's to say who is right or wrong?
Within our minds there are many features,
To the fantasies we do tend to throng.

Right to the fore,
There are gods we adore,
Though none of them have ever been seen,
Strange thing is they need money galore,
They also like trinkets that glean.

After this earth,
In their kingdom we'll berth,
But only if you've obeyed what they say,
Which one is right of facts there's a dearth,
Is that why they ask us to pray?

There are countless gods,
Who are all at odds?
As many as species of pigeons,
Who is to say which ones are frauds?
That is the curse of religions.

The facts are sparse,
Gods are a farce,
The fact is the whole concepts a lie,
Human intelligence I'd say, my arse,
Truth is,

‘' We Don't Want To Die ‘'