When death comes
like the eclipse of the sun by the moon
when death comes and clutches you in its iron grip,
swiftly stealing you from the bliss of life.

when death comes
like an riot at an English football game, expected to happen,
but no way to prepare.

when death comes
like incompetent waitress.
Never leaving you fully satisfied and still yearning for an explanation.

I want to step through the gates of my departure
wondering what is in store.

And therefore I look upon everything
as an endless frontier of opportunity to really make something of yourself
so your time here does not seem trivial.
and I look upon time as a useless set of numbers with no personal purpose
and I consider eternity as a deadline free place of existence where time is irrelevant.

and I think of each life as a dust ridden book in a closed library
lost among hundreds of thousands of other stories more interesting than theirs.

and each body as a soldier in an army of idealistic leadership with no reasonable goal in mind as we kill and kill and kill.

When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a rebel marching against the army of conformity
I was different that than rest.

When it’s over, I don’t want to know what comes next
I don’t want to live my life by a belief with no guarantees
I don’t want to live my life wondering what I could have done
only what I have done.