Demise feels like a trap to me,
So why advent is so vague?
Unpredictable life is,
incredible what we endorse.
Souvenir we receive from a deity,
Frittering it without sentiment.
As we are the creator of what we do,
Imminent on the mother world.
Are no tremendous things we did,
I feel will not feed his gut,
We are here to be human,
Existence is itself a fictional world.
No, I don’t feel anything wrong going back,
Where we came from, with our fortune,
We did whatever we can,
But there is an enormous time for us.
To validate why he preferred us,
I feel a hundred years isn’t more than enough.
Demise feel like a trap to me,
Why is everything bad about going back?
Death is as real as life to a born one.