Poem By Michael Matsuda

Death, you are not as swift as the legends say.
Your plagues, your instant kill, your murders and death of age are not as they seem.
You know this but people like me can see your weakness; your follies.
What flaws you have.
The perfect design people live by: Birth. Life. Death.
Three words cannot amount to that somewhere in the between; the inevitable called life.

Nothing and no one, Death that's you, can ever take away what we have seen, what we have dream, and what we are.

You soul reaver. Even in death there is life. Death, this is your ultimate flaw. Everything still lives on. so after the curtain has been drawn, the casket closed, we live through what you attempt to call this absolute despair of the end.

We have left the ground and learned to fly to this outwardly world. It could be heaven or hell. It could be the reincarnation of a soul. It could be the be the memories in which we live.

To fathom what you think of as the end is an inexcusable act which lays waste to the depths of the weak minded, willed, and tormented. Say what you will death, but I see through your veil of mist conjured through sorrow.

Life is like a cycle in which everything comes around in full fruition. So death, is there a beginning or an end to a circle; this everlasting cycle?

Comments about Absolution

i dont even think death knows the answer to that one my friend great write 8/10

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Other poems of MATSUDA

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Sometimes, if you fixate your eyes to that wall in the pitch black of the darkened room only set aglow by the computer monitor, you can see it become animated. The wall starts to move inward, shapes are formed by the uneven coating of paint that move with life. However, everyone else will look at this wall and see nothing.

Counterproductive Thoughts Of An Insomniac

Dismay, disarray;
Marionette, let me make you who you are today
Put on that schizophrenic mask, smile and play
These phantom limbs and phantom thoughts

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Too beautiful to let yourself hide
Such short time on this lush green roller coaster
We can't spare clocks on braggers and boasters

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Perfection is not instant
Remember that perfection is a process of trial and errors!
There are no shortcuts in time so go the distance.
But do not stray from the path like fool's gold I'll compare!

The Sounds Have Turn To Silence

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Is it a dream?

Where I'M From

I am from the Shadows.
I am from the dark womb.
I am a silhouette from the sonigram,
Quiet but moving and forming contemplations.