The Authors
When the curtains fall, and I am showered in the darkness
Will I be proud of the moments that brought me to this?
Will I look back on this life and smile
Close my eyes to find that every choice was worth while
Or do I stand with a knot in my throat
A solid regret, a strongly worded note
Tell myself all of the things I wish I would have done
Wishful thinking doesn’t get me far, when the ends come undone
You watch the ones you love fade away, pass through an invisible wall
A pane of glass, and they fear it so, we all attempt to stall
To get rid of the wrinkles, remove the jagged edges that tell the world how much we’ve seen
How old we are, how many mistakes we’ve made, and sometimes where we’ve been
We wear our journeys on our bodies, and we betray them so
By trying to hold on to life, when it becomes time for us to go
They tell us to be unafraid when the moment comes to die
But I have too often seen that moment in my loved one’s eyes
When they know that it’s over, and there’s no life left to live
And I question why they were so fearless, until life became remissive
When their memories fluttered away, and their breaths began to disperse among the air
No longer feeding into their lungs, but expanding into nowhere
And they always seem to gasp for it, wanting more time
So I ask again, why they say not to fear death, when they know their life is on the line
Balancing on it, teetering back and forth, teasing them with inconsistency
Staring into an emptiness much farther than you or I will ever see
If there is someone or somewhere out there to take us when we’re gone
Then why does it let us waste away, take from us what we love most, like we’re just pawns
In life’s precious chess game, just a foreman for something greater than we’ll ever know
When my time comes to leave this world, I will dig in my fingers, kicking and screaming as I go
Our uncertainty is our disease, our never ending desire to know all the answers
Yet, we are still plagued by the greatest question, handed to us by the hidden authors
The authors of our existence, the writers of our lives
The poets of our deaths, and the beauty in the surprise
Will I be proud of the moments that brought me to this?
Will I look back on this life and smile
Close my eyes to find that every choice was worth while
Or do I stand with a knot in my throat
A solid regret, a strongly worded note
Tell myself all of the things I wish I would have done
Wishful thinking doesn’t get me far, when the ends come undone
You watch the ones you love fade away, pass through an invisible wall
A pane of glass, and they fear it so, we all attempt to stall
To get rid of the wrinkles, remove the jagged edges that tell the world how much we’ve seen
How old we are, how many mistakes we’ve made, and sometimes where we’ve been
We wear our journeys on our bodies, and we betray them so
By trying to hold on to life, when it becomes time for us to go
They tell us to be unafraid when the moment comes to die
But I have too often seen that moment in my loved one’s eyes
When they know that it’s over, and there’s no life left to live
And I question why they were so fearless, until life became remissive
When their memories fluttered away, and their breaths began to disperse among the air
No longer feeding into their lungs, but expanding into nowhere
And they always seem to gasp for it, wanting more time
So I ask again, why they say not to fear death, when they know their life is on the line
Balancing on it, teetering back and forth, teasing them with inconsistency
Staring into an emptiness much farther than you or I will ever see
If there is someone or somewhere out there to take us when we’re gone
Then why does it let us waste away, take from us what we love most, like we’re just pawns
In life’s precious chess game, just a foreman for something greater than we’ll ever know
When my time comes to leave this world, I will dig in my fingers, kicking and screaming as I go
Our uncertainty is our disease, our never ending desire to know all the answers
Yet, we are still plagued by the greatest question, handed to us by the hidden authors
The authors of our existence, the writers of our lives
The poets of our deaths, and the beauty in the surprise
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