The Only Proof of Life Is Death

The Only Proof of Life Is Death

  Copyright 2015 Adriel Vigo

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  Table of Contents

  Introduction

  SoaPriestandaPersonWalkIntoaConfessional

  DontReadThisBedtimeStorytoYourKids

  OnlyaCountryforYoungMen

  FastTimesatIDontCareHigh

  ACloudyFallDayataCemeteryHowOriginal

  SkullandChain

  WhateverHappenedDidHappenattheSubconscio

  AbouttheAuthor

  Introduction

  What’s the theme of this collection you may ask?

  Actually, on that question I’ll pass.

  See this collection is a lot like life,

  It makes no sense.

  So a Priest and a Person Walk Into a Confessional Booth

  Sounds like the beginning of a joke right?

  Not this time, well maybe you’ll find this poem funny and light.

  I guess maybe if you look anywhere you can find a joke,

  You just have to look past all the pain, mirrors and smoke.

  So into a confessional booth did these two men walk.

  One was just an ordinary man,

  The other a divine representative of God’s plan.

  “I’m sorry but I don’t really know how to do this, it’s my first time.” Said one man.

  Responding the other says, “Don’t worry I’ll try to help and understand.”

  The other speaks, “Well you see I’ve been living a lie,

  I’ve meant to ask forgiveness but I haven’t the time.

  Let me ask you, have you ever felt another’s skin?

  And wondered what dwelt within?

  See within me are urges and vices,

  Which give me quite a crisis.

  I quit praying a long time ago,

  Never seemed to provide any answers or tell me where I should go.

  It started as simple things, taking money from the offering plate;

  But then I began to explore other habits humans consider great.

  I can tell you that the women in the congregation weren’t just filled with the Holy Spirit.

  I was tired of lonely nights, get it?

  And then I discovered drugs of varying kinds,

  Filling me with love our God could not seem to provide.

  But then a member from our church found out my deeds;

  And I couldn’t have that I’m sure you see.

  So I had to silence them, whatever way that might be.

  At first I tried to pay them off;

  But for whatever reason their morals only scoffed.

  And one thing led to the next, and while we were working at the top of the church’s steeple,

  I looked around and saw no people,

  So I decided a slight push is what this man needed,

  And he fell and fell, while into the shadows I receded.

  Although he was rushed, I made my way carefully down the stairs.

  What a shame he made such a mess when he fell through the air.

  Blood adorned the church steps,

  And his open eyes looked up to the heavens,

  In some hope he would be there, that God’s promise would be kept,

  And then I closed his eyes.

  But see I don’t feel bad for what I’ve done and I no longer know why,

  Is it because I no longer believe in one who dwells in the sky?

  So for me if I am not punished in this life,

  It appears I will also not be, when I die.

  Funny thing isn’t it? People don’t necessarily need religion.

  Just like a church doesn’t really need a steeple,

  But a religion is nothing but dead without its people.”

  And the confessional booth was silent but not because of reverence this time,

  Rather because the man had nothing to say to the confessor that was kind.

  Yet through opaque silence the man says,

  “I’m speechless and I don’t mean to be a bother,

  But why are you telling me this Father?”

  And the priest had no answer.

  Don’t Read This Bedtime Story to Your Kids

  Once upon a time there was a man who lived in a large house that was very nice,

  Indeed for this house, he had to pay a hefty price.

  But what was important was that this house was his own,

  And that upon him it was not bestowed.

  But this man had a tiny problem within his home,

  From time to time within snakes would roam!

  And at first it was just one or two so the owner didn’t mind,

  He thought, “It’s just one snake I’ll take care of it at another time!”

  But one night while he was sleeping,

  The snakes gave him a reason to start weeping.

  First it was one, then it was two,

  Soon it became a snake monsoon!

  Hundreds ran through his house trying to find his bedroom;

  And they did, and found him in bed under the full moon.

  And one by one they all wrapped around his limbs.

  With one wrapping around his neck suffocating him.

  And he tried to grab the snakes and gasp for air,

  But life escaped him and he died in despair.

  There were too many snakes for just one man.

  But had he addressed the problem in its beginning stages,

  Perhaps he would’ve experienced a story with different pages.

  So the same is true of problems in reality,

  Whether gun control, police brutality,

  Crime, or even those of morality.

  Problems must be addressed while possible in the beginning,

  Before they go out of control and the one problem becomes many.

  But see, people don’t fix things until they’re faced directly with them.

  And so until then, movie theaters will be shot up,

  Streets will not be safe,

  And innocent lives will be ended.

  I realize this poem may seem rather childish in its nature,

  But, perhaps it will make a concept easier to understand for those more mature.

  Only a Country for Young Men

  Gun in hand and heart pounding the detective runs up the staircase.

  Thinking to himself, “This is it, I’ve got him, and now in the force I’ll finally have a place!”

  The detective reaches the top floor,

  Then the end of a hallway and finally a door.

  Yet the door is open, and so the detective walks in.

  The detective is somewhat surprised by what he sees within.

  For inside the apartment is a tidy and bright home.

  Filled with various trinkets, objects, and furniture,

  Perhaps because the tenant feels alone.

  Making his way through the apartment, the detective lets out a slight laugh,

  Hard to believe that the criminal lives here,

  He thinks, “This apartment hardly seems like it could house a sociopath.”

  Finally the detective reaches the bedroom,

  And seated in a plush chair is the criminal with no light save for that from the moon.

  The deafening silence only to be broken by the irregular tick of the hung clock.

  Solemnly smoking his cigarette, the criminal makes eye contact with the man of th
e law.

  The detective’s grip on his gun tightens, lest it should fall.

  And through a shaky voice the officer says, “You have the right to remain-“

  The criminal holds up his hand to stop the officer and responds without fear,

  “Enough of that sir, I know why you’re here.

  You’re here because I’m a bad man aren’t you?

  Or at least the definition of bad that you and your laws believe to be true.”

  Through a shaky voice the officer responds, “Well I guess that’s right.”

  Moving his head up and down, the criminal says, “Aren’t you just bright?”

  A silence ensues,

  Only to be freed by the occasional sounds of outside traffic.

  And irregular ticking clock in the room,

  The familiar sounds of life before it ceases.

  The criminal takes a drag and says,

  “Officer I must ask,

  What makes a person bad?

  Or rather what makes a person good?

  For I feel it differs than what I understood.

  People like to think themselves naturally good don’t they?

  Give five dollars to a man on the corner there,

  Go to church and say your meaningless prayers,

  Have a steady job and okay family,

  Do those simple things and suddenly you have a gift of morality.

  I suppose people think they’re good as long as they can measure themselves,

  Against others, including their own wealth.

  See people like to think they’re good in many ways, one being if they’re better than others

  Sometimes against their own mothers and brothers.

  If someone can say, ‘Well at least I’m better than them…Or at least I’m not them’

  They somehow think they’re better than that person, and perhaps in turn better people.

  Is that how morality began?

  A way to distinguish, separate and classify people?

  But it was disguised as a way to understand,

  Others, and why we were good and they were bad.

  And so began religions, jealousy, and even wars were fought over simple land.

  All justified by some being good and right, and others being bad and wrong.”

  And the detective slightly lowered his gun,

  And the clock seemed fixed, beating regularly now.

  The criminal spoke, “Funny thing the English language wouldn’t you say?

  For example: suicide, murder, death and sometimes