The Afterlife Waiting for Me by experimental
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Description
Death is Bliss, Be Happy. My afterlife is awaiting me patiently, and I can already see it. It's that feeling of half-drunkeness when everything is just great. My grandmother is already there, waiting to exchange words of poetry. She'll be happy to see me again. We'll sit by the old rushing creek with the willows weeping over the water and write together. My naked toes twisting and playing with the eddies in the water. The animals that have graced my life will be there with more words than I've ever written. They will tell me of their political opinions on the ramifications of the presidents of past times, but they will never speak. The flowers will speak of the theology that has embraced my feeble mind, and free me from biased opinions. The grass in the wind will reveal all the secrets of the universe, and I will cry in the beauty of it everyday. The afterlife waiting for me will have no hidden agendas. It will present itself in full glory everyday. And the god I choose to beleive in will be there just as the god you have chosen to believe in will be there for you. Everything will be there. But I have not lead the perfect life. Alcohol seeps into the creek and poisons the flowers, just as it has poisoned the flowers of my thoughts today. Their cries will justify the days I have spent wallowing in self-despair. The animals that have graced my life will fight with me, just as I have fought with the rules of my life. And my grandmother will stand up and tell me her honest opinion, and for that I will be grateful. No, the afterlife that awaits me will still be perfect. The rows of cornfields will still be there to back me up when I say that life is good.
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Yes, I'm a little drunk right now, and typing directly into the upload box. No editing. I must admit that as strong as a man that I have been over the years writing this brought a few tears to my eyes. If only every one knew that all my self-sacrifices have made me weaker than I thought. My message to all of you, stop sacrificing yourself, and stand up, fly free. I hope that every one of you that read this will leave an honest comment, even if it is just "I like it" or "It sucks", leave your comment, please.
Comments (6)
experimental
For those who are interested: I finally did upload a personel pic.
FallenAngelLPN
I ALWAYS type directly into the upload box w/out editing or proofreading...LOL! As always, excellent writing, and again, thoughtful. Yes, self-sacrifice makes us weaker..I am questioning a lot myself as to which way of living is better...I'm at a stale-mate...so much so that I tried to write here today and so much was going thru my head I couldn't write...LOL! Racoon or eagle...someone once asked what animal we'd like to be...I've got to creep out of the woods first to become the eagle...we all know what we need to do...it's doing it that's hard....as for the pic, I sorta saw it before when you came outa the closet Chip...I cheated, went to your other gallery...you were reflected in the eye...LOL!---Gin
Shadowmonkey
It sucks in a way I like. Some how words that can be read like the ramblings of a drunken typist can explode into a very sensible and interesting comment. A wonderful exploration of self sacrifice and conciseness.
eternalwytch1
The soul speaks loudly at times and yours did here.
experimental
22 viewings and 4 comments, not good
Wolfspirit
Chip, it is unfortunate that when I say this my previous comment will disappear, but please do not judge your work by the number of comments here. Come here. I want to show you something. Look through this window, you see that guy over there reading that book. He is hungry, yet he does not eat, for he is busy turning pages, he is involved. Lets watch him for a bit, and see how long he goes before he gets up and makes him self something to eat. Hours go by he has completed the book and fallen asleep from exhaustion and he never made himself dinner. The next morning comes early. He is up and showering for work. He sits and has his breakfast. After work, he stops at the book store in search for the next book he will devour. He never thinks to write the author and tell him/her how wonderful the book is/was he ravished the night before. Instead, he goes to the book store in search of more by: him/her. Chip, chin up!