What It Outta Be

-What It Outta Be-
by Keaton Foster



What it outta be
Weird
This may seem
Such intentions
Will I free
Because you’ll see
That time
Is nothing
Most presently
Consequentially
Here
A tree
Does dream
Here
A rock
Does move
And here
Dirt
Does spiral loose
The world spins
Needless of sound
Nothing so profound
Axial semantics
Leading further
To polluted nuances
All of it
Everything
A nonentity
Existing down here
There are clouds
Mini wind storms
Lightning bolts
A tenth of the size
Of what’s norm
And here
No one is going to die
There are no killers
In this lifeless place
So unkind
For those here
The deceased
There is just silence
A muted paradise
Full of transients
Stuck waiting
In this way ward station
And yes, one word
One proclamation
Not two
What it outta be
Then again
Maybe it’s not
The living can’t know
Because they
Are too busy dying
They can’t be bothered
Residence is between
God so far above
And those eight feet down
In the darkest of hole
I am just one
Of infinitesimally more
How many exactly
Just go to any cemetery
Pick up a rock
And throw it
You’ll hit someone
So denied life
Back when I myself
Was quite alive
I refused any form of God
And made it my life’s work
To make others question
What they took on faith
If freewill is a bitch
Then I am
One of its children
A putrid offspring
Here rotting for my choices
And the bothersome ways
In which I made them
I got what I deserved
Or so it would seem
What it outta be
Is indeed very clear
At least to me
In this place
Of willingly made
Important decisions
Truly
Many do indeed belong
Willy-nilly I took
What was organized
And laid it out bare
I poked it with sticks
Then I kicked it
When it was down
I circled back around
Calling it horrid names
Casting vigorous aspersions
To any and all
That would listen
Those perilous few
Are probably here
Somewhere near
In death just as I
Paying for what I’ve done
And what has yet to come
The amount is epic
The fee is staggering
Who knew that salvation
Could be part of
A much greater equation
Adding up
To the sum of lives
And at least for me
Our demise
What it outta be
Seems right here
God knows my sincerity
And if he don’t
What am I
Going do about it
Nothing
I’ve made my bed
Written of my ends
And
Now I’m here
Freewill
It does seem
Is not so clear
Choices
Not present
Just death
And my once supple flesh
Rotting away
Decaying as my soul
Stays pristine
Within the confines
Of my present home
What it outta be
Is what it seems…


What It Outta Be
Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2014.