I seldom get prepared

I seldom get prepared,
I've been impaired by doubt,
My ego I've seen scared,
Cowering, undevout. 
But I've been forced by chance;
Death with its passing glance
Denied delusion's spout.
When faced with nothing, stared;
What could one care about
A lout who never dared?

And death won't come with haste;
First you must waste away.
Everything gets debased, 
More falls into decay
Than just ideas of self:
Family flags in health
And dissolves in dark play
Between the wilting taste
Laced with their care's dismay
And frustrations they've faced.

As such I find the choice
I thought foisted on we
Unhappy-lifers moist
With tears is trickery.
Questioning if to die
Like nature would comply;
That's not what nature sees.
It could never give voice
To the dead, poised to be
Without meaning to hoist.

Somehow cause and effect
Randomly trekked, evolved 
A thing that could detect
Through narratives revolved
Around themselves, which pit
Their souls against split
Realities–one solved
Death with life unchecked,
Irrespective of all
Values our walls reflect.

The other state is void,
Paranoid and alone,
And since alone employed
In rough attempts to own
An answer, an escape
From our foresight which gapes
On futures of cold bone
And uncertainty. Toyed
With, annoyed, spurred to hone
In on zones death avoids.

Ever an opposite,
The gnarly bit that leads
Hungry jaws thought unfit,
Separate, alien, seeds
Ostracism in souls
Haunted by lack of roles;
It breaks them to concede
Their selves they can't transmit.
A chasm's pit impedes.
They plead disconsolate. 

Constantly feeling trapped,
Handicapped by some lack
Of congruence, a gap;
As though the line went slack
And let one slip apart
From creation, to start
Upon a separate track
Than all else that seem rapt
In naturalborn tact,
Fractionless and unsnapped.

"I'm different, I'm 'not this,'"
Is the distance that daunts
A single soul. A hiss
Of uncertainty taunts;
Instinct and selflessness
Give way to helplessness
When reason becomes bonds. 
That something is amiss
It insists from its font:
Questions' haunting abyss.

The division inside
Is applied to all things, 
And the conscious derides
Itself for its own string 
Of differences between
Man and many a scene;
Something lacked singling 
Out every petrified,
Yet-untried pair of wings 
That thinks in wanting strides.

How is the whole restored?
Toward which star is truth,
And how does one afford
To dive into uncouth
Surroundings teacherless,
Nebulous, featureless,
Which direction holds use
And communion's reward?
Accord springs as proof
With greed refused, ignored.

Once I gave up control
And stole away from dreams;
Then life was rendered cold,
As each fabulous scheme
Crumbled before my eyes.
I thought it my demise.
What I thought was esteemed, 
Needed even, I'd hold
No more. What only seems
Builds its themes from false gold.

Everything I let go,
Every show of desire,
The thirst to possess thrown
Away. As though expired 
I laid, a corpse in bed;
Grandiosity bled
From childhood, and a pyre
Consumed wishes with smoke.
But a glow from the fire
Inspired peace to bestow.

With semantics removed
Two visions would remain:
There was death to reprove
Me; but who've been insane
And stood upon the brink,
Yet had the chance to think
Come to a new life's plane.
When "dead" and seeing through
Who you knew's eyes in pain,
All else feels vain and crude.

Slowly dying for years,
Disappearing from hopes 
By degrees showed the fears
Of peers and loved ones' scope.
I may not be who I'd 
Wanted, but if I died
They'd hit the instant slope
Of grief, now domineered
By sheer void. Left remote,
To cope when I'm not here.

All that we could have shared
Unfairly unfulfilled
Forever. Where once prayers
Of life dared on its hill,
Could have been anything,
Everything; emptying,
The chances of life spilled,
What time could have repaired.
Loved ones must bear that nil,
But the world will not care.

The people who are dear
To us hear, see, and strive
Alongside us through drear 
And joy, cheered to survive
Together. Though success
I may never be blessed
With, they're still gratified
To have me in their sphere.
I'm steering. I'm alive.
Our revival is clear.

So long as breath is drawn,
From conqueror or child,
Human's human; beyond 
That inconstantly styled
Egos who could lose touch
Bent on titles and such.
It made me feel more mild,
As one of many pawns
Of fate's ponderous guile
Smiled on as eons yawn.

The treasure is to try,
To ply my unique hand
In endeavors that I
May find or understand
A secret or a dream
Within this world that seems
At once overly-grand
And too small to describe;
Surprises and demands,
But also plans and smiles.

Writing this poem's all
I want. Should I fall down
There are some I can call
While I'm sprawled on the ground.
With these ones I adore
I don't feel less or more;
I'm assured that I've found,
After a life that stalled,
My small niche in the sound
Where I'll renounce my walls.