Burning Depths

Cold wet snow covers the ground as I walk to an unknown destination. Cold, wet and angry I walk where no one dares walk on a starless night. 

Into the grave yard I walk, hands in pockets reveling in the dark beauty of death. Love and life have ups and downs, but death...Death is always down. Down, 6 feet under. Under the cold earth. I couldn't handle death, for then I would be buried, and then I would not, could not see the stars. The beautiful, twinkling stars.

Would my spirit fly away or would it sink? Far and deep into the dark depths of the earth, Into the molten core? Where I would stay and burn? Burn until their was nothing left? Or is their something better? Would I wander around among the living, cursed to a existence of haunting?

These thoughts poison my anger, making it shrivel. Then fear grows, fear of death, of the future. If I don't fix my problems will I end up alone? Cold, and alone.

Reviews

[roarke]

Interesting contemplative piece. This writing well illustrates how inner perspectives can frame choices of directions. Lots of great connected imagery:
"Cold, wet and angry I walk where no one dares walk on a starless night." "...I couldn't handle death, for then I would be buried, and then i would not, could not see the stars. The beautiful, twinkling stars."

A brief glimpse of the universe of the mind, filtered by emotion and curiosity. Your writing has a strong voice to it. Nice piece.