Philosophical

The glimpses of Sheol are never kind. 
My four walls look on smiling 
Knowing they shall never have their minds 
Ripped apart by insanity, 
Leaving mental diseases the joy 
Of feasting on the remains. 
 
When will this experiment 
Called creation and living 
Be over with nothing but endless bliss 
As a reward for all who lived 
Just to suffer? 
 
Or were we simply born into decay 
Searching for temporary joys 
Not knowing if there really is light 
At the end of it all? 
Or is there just eternal darkness 
And the fear of tight spaces? 
 
Are we given this moment to just shine 
As brilliant as a dying star, 
To return to the magma and be dissolved 
Into the essence that made us? 
 
At the end of it all, why do we...

Carol in the fog