Dear Death, Dear Purpose

Where is dear death taking us?
On thin sheets of ice, running bare feet, it's breath
chasing...
I, I am a cockroach loosely packed,
prudent in my icy sleep.
I don't want to drown in
the watery texture
beneath my feet.
Death is still haunting me.

Where is dear death taking us?
It's taking us to the poor on the streets.
It's taking us to a room without a ceiling.
They've got lotta rooms,
their house does not have walls,
they've still got plenty of room for you.
You'll have a sink with a view,
you'll see them separating peas from the pods,
there's plenty of room for cynicism there.

It's crystal white particles mixing, swirling
with a spoon untouched,
making brief tornadoes and
causing no disaster unplanned,
plenty of room in the house of death.

And then this death is leading us
astray, spiritless, we're out of it,
broken, yet so full of it,
we are confused and we have nothing left to give.
Swimming in the salty ocean of our tears,
crying-screaming-weeping
at the loss of things we do not own...

Where is this death taking us?
Why is it so dear to us that it lingers in our coldest thoughts?
Why don't we let it go of our own free will?
Why does it take us anyway? What does it have to show us?

To you,
much may seem forgiven.
You've conquered it.
Yet, it is the beginning of your awakening.
Death has taken you to sleep, where
oblivion rests in peace.