As I Lay Here Dying

As I lay here dying,
I wonder will become of me
as I pass away.
Slowly...slowly...into oblivion, into nothingness,
into the darkness.

As I lay here dying,
I wonder of the possibilities of the life after,
whether it is a world for me, a world
fr the undying, a world of blooming flames.

I wish for the dreams to come true, to
float for me like fluttering butterflies,
For just like butterflies, dreams never
stop fluttering, winging in and out of
sight, out of vision, out of existence.

If seeing is believing, then believing can
only exist by way of existence itself, a
spider that weaves a web of deception, of deceit,
of Iago madness.
Yet with a southerly wind, it blows to pieces
Its fragility as soft as a flowers.

Like a flower

From the smallest of seeds, life grows, with a single thought, and a simple will,
life begins,
But life ends, as streams grows into rivers,
For to the sea the river runs,
The big blue sea, a blue dream of existence.

As I lay here dying, I
wonder if they know. If she knows.
The emptiness of my heart setting it free, flying away as it tosses the
burden of yesterday, of the past, of
the present or the future.

As I lay here dying,
I realise that like the butterfly, like the
web, like the river and the flower,
like a dream that blinks beyond existence
and subconsciousness.
Deja vu of a remembrance I could
never recall. I've been dreaming
all along of hopes and wishes
that matters not, of loves and
lives never made, of saints and angles
that comes only when I couldn't see.

I've been dreaming of a life that
never was. Unbridled joy, untempered
happiness, unbearable relations.
I see the sky above me, seeing
it come closer and closer to me.
I've dreaming of tears that drops,
of the rain that falls, of stories told,
of memories lost.

As I lay here dying, I realise
that I've been dreaming of a
dream.
The dream of a dream
that could.
Never be.