To Be Or Not To Be.

To be or not to be, that is the question,
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer,
The heartache and the thousand natural shocks,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die, to sleep,

The heartache and the thousand natural shocks,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
And by opposing end them? To die, to sleep,
Perchance to dream, ay, there's the rub,

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Perchance to dream, ay, there's the rub,
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
But that the dread of something after death,
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The undiscovered country, from whose bourn

But that the dread of something after death,
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
The undiscovered country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,

No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all.
Written By,
Ivan Edwin Pen Name--Maximus.

Author's Note

This poetry raises a question whether to be or not to be.