To the known ends we are (Same poem In First Person)

This poem was Inspired by RedBubble artist Paul D Robertson and his writing: The truth about suicide. It is Dedicated to Kurt Vonnegut / Author of Mother Night

PLEASE DO NOTE: I am Asking you to comment here. Please Read the Original Poem First. (This may prepare you creative mind) Then after that fact PLEASE read this same poem, written in first person. PLEASE, before you start this version. NOW: IMAGINE HERE, BEFORE YOU READ THIS VERION, YOU ARE THE (narrator?) ACTOR/ACTRESS (if you prefer). See the stage you are on! The setting. The lighting. The sounds of the staged environment, or ambient sounds present here in your imagination. The props. The costumes, the time, the voice, tone, pitch and flux of the main character (YOU! Your mind is now here to read this) now about to speak the lines below. Now read. To who (on stage) (alone?) (Yes/No?) To what (Spirit(s)/Audience? In you mind? Aloud? Enjoy this. Bravo!

To the Known Ends We Are (The poem in first person)
Written by C. Arshagra

Act? Scene?
The Curtain opens. There is…? You are…?

To the known ends we are
It begins here—in the faultless womb
To say time, for existing, is a formidable price
Paid for by my body of its age will be done

So ‘Feed me.’ is all I can say in the end
And all I care for—is my truths to defend
By all the born lies my lips ever will spew
Fore-reasoning Death is the keeper of me

Committing All’s murder against human beings
For All’s plague of life is just empty of filling
With alone the ends’ beauty—be all the dead songs
The ugly understanding of just why fault’s will …
—needs me—to hereby—passively kill

A pity for salvation’s dawn is wasted on time wasting
The endless mourning lives ~ for I believe in I am pointless.
Comforted by intelligence’s twist—insane machines of power
A suicidal act I fear to harm my insane source

And so, the chessboard is my home, hospital, and kingdom
And I am lo, God of all—the players at my table
Moveable fragments in a mathematical equation
All entertainment final—all passivity’s sweet torture

Winning; and never will I lose the game
I only need to know I’m playing—throughout and out will’s end
And the space where O play … is the land that I own
And the grounds are my reasons to kill or be wound

As Generals reason to know they’ll be called
For the boardroom’s clever —never is the battlefields are here
No more than a thought, or idea, feels the kill of war with eyes
Lest lost, my mind cannot withstand the news of death is real

Propaganda fails here to convince my masturbation’s rule
As maker, breaker, and shape-shifter of all ruling truths
I am all ego suited in comfortable shoes
I’m respected for knowing that hoping will lose

The faithful? —to me! —their all pawns I just use
And money is the blood lust that pours semen like champagne
Excited as Doom giving a toast –“To inevitable pain! Lest
The poor wake to think …”

Now my pleasure of dying to play the next round
With war, hate, and vengeance I play ‘The Big Lie’
—with life’s a fooled soldier
Paid to take sides and die

And give me bread game
From the graves of dead seeds
To replace their proud arms
Born to kill –bound to serve

For I am—the suicide of Humankind
For the fools who believe their love’s not a big lie
And idiots, who believe, that mere hopefulness gives …
See … I can’t kill myself, for I can’t let you live

For who would protect you of misery’s knowledge?
Who will defend all the pain that life offers?
Who’ll be the guardian of life is fruitless?
Who’ll care, for God’s needs, to not waste the Evil?

The slavery of time needs someone to lead you
To help people choose how to enslave themselves
To guide all toward knowing they cannot raise living
And be there when futile matters become them

And save all from thinking that peace on this world is
And so I cannot knowingly kill my known self
No matter how obvious—this rationale is
For conscious to die knowing is my last reason

To the known ends are we
So I cannot kill myself
For there need be just one
Man or woman who lies

To hide the true gender
Of one’s enemy line

© Copyright 1/12/2008 C.C. Arshagra

“To know the ends we are’ from “There Is No Hate / The Poetry of Good-bye” Series Book 1
The Poetry of Good-bye Series and collection (Unpublished Work)

To the known ends we are (Same poem In First Person)

C.C. Arshagra

NEW BRITAIN, United States

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Artist's Description

This poem was Inspired by RedBubble artist Paul D Robertson and his writing: The truth about suicide. It is Dedicated to Kurt Vonnegut / Author of Mother Night
Please visit Paul’ page. The piece refered to here is listed in his writings. You will not be disappointed! Lest the fright of nakedness ofends you. His URL ( get thelink thing down latter)

Artwork Comments

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  • Pagly2
  • pijinlane
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