Original Poetry Fan Fiction ❯ Forgotten Soul ❯ Death ( Chapter 8 )

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When is death justified? Is it when your body, used and worn, begins to give out? Is it when the sky fades to black, giving way into the shear chaos? Is it when life is so worn that all you truly want is death itself? What is death? Minds have made him out as a dark figure robed in black, a large scythe held in a boney hand. Humans have made him out as a figure intent of terror, a bearer of bad omens…the gate keeper of hell. Tell me, is it death that so frightens the masses that the thought of someone killing is immoral? What if that person was death? Religious figures, priests, popes, and nuns are so mortified of something they spent their whole life worshiping. Does the fact that you could be wrong, the fact that there may be no god scare them so terribly that they dare to say that death is immoral?

The cycle of death continues, as one reaper dies the next rises. Those who sit and await their fate know that innocence is nothing but a figment of false hope that surges through the masses. Is our minds so plagued with fear that we’ve forgotten how to live? Fear, what is it truly? The quivering of our bodies, the slight chills that surge through us, are they relevant or necessary to live?