Waking, screaming, alive and well,
Again aware of living hell.
In a distance I see the end,
The finish line of my life;
The last steps I can’t wait,
The finale to this strife.
I cry for the lost ones behind,
I cry for what I take;
I cried so hard that rivers remain,
Flowing into a lake.
I worry about the transition,
Fearful of its pain;
Yet afraid of the unknown life,
I acquire to gain.
Death shall not be the end,
Not for now;
Just a change of clothes,
My spirit will endow.
Friends are given time and more,
To cry their hearts until I soar,
I leave them this my only lore,
As I leave my final door.
Five attempts I have made,
Yet all are undone;
But When my soul will fade,
my ninth leads the sun.
Plans are set and tools are bought,
Preparing for that final walk;
The soul at peace and nothing fought,
Ending that withered family stalk.
The fuel is a smell less ether,
light as air;
It tears at the physical tether,
Yet so fair.
Splitting through body and mind,
bringing restful calm;
Air so completely declined,
no breath for a psalm.
Eyeing that blooming summer time,
Life at its fullest;
To nature it is a sinful crime,
Its sorrow so earnest.
As my body goes to sleep,
and soundly hear my mother weep,
My soul is now his to keep,
A journey ending in faithful leap.
Set aside my clothes to rest,
Preparing for my final test,
As my soul departs my chest,
travelling to the distant west.
Open arms he waits,
At the end of a long road,
His embrace wanting.
The noise next door, a knife to my soul.
My temper sore, peace and rest my goal.
Life given chance, Yet nothing appears.
Taking a stance. Closing the world to my ears.
A close audience watches with silence.
Not wanting to act;
But without their soulful presence,
The id can’t stay intact.
It is with a heavy heart these pages I adjust,
Final words of a tired soul;
Cracked and broken the mind is but dust,
Nothing that can make me whole.
A life meant well and fine in a past forgotten,
Innocence played among broken harps;
The legacy in the end all but downtrodden,
As time cuts across its hillside scarps.
Like fish in a stream we swim towards an ocean,
An ocean of hope, wants, and desires;
Yet the path takes its toll and causes erosion,
And flesh gives way to burning fires.
So the words I seek to say to a host of hosts,
Is a farewell of single sound;
To leave a lingering memory of all past ghosts,
When we are no longer around.
In a lie long lived by a broken husk,
Few things were well and true;
As we see a tinge of approaching dusk,
Your loss I shall always rue.
All things good must come to an end,
A finale of different sorts;
With nothing left but my love to send,
I leave you my last purports.
In dreams I cry, choking, sobbing,
Gasping breaths a window;
Hurting doubly, both real and not,
In my bed’s meadow.
Reality and fade, merging worlds,
Eliminating any escape;
No soft velvet, only harshness,
My feelings undrape.
A friend indeed I disappear,
Allaying future concern;
Then to the unheard jeer,
My life I adjourn.
Distant friends of bystander effect,
Cold and afraid,
All request for aid they deflect,
Left one betrayed.
Deadened nerves of rotting flesh,
Each wringing a soul;
Able to wring that trepid mesh,
Tearing one self a new hole.
Hollowed we then become.
My will is lost to time,
A measure of our age;
And in it my only crime,
Bare ink on an empty page.
The human flesh is a castle wrought,
by age and wisdom;
Looking back at a life long fought,
In a sinful kingdom.
The noise of fellow men,
ringing in our ears;
Nothing but a human fen,
Keeping check our fears.
The mirror show our hate,
A vile creature of nature;
We feel it is too late,
As we approach our maker.
We cry for hope,
A silent noise in our bosom;
Yet are unable to cope,
When it fails to blossom.
we live to die,
alone and crying;
our body hurt,
and our soul dying.
For no heaven awaits,
only peace in lying.
Broken boys with broken toys,
lying in a field of ash.
An empty shell in a desert hell,
All for the sake of cash.
The world a construct,
of man and mind;
Yet we children ignore,
their will unmined.
School but a place,
of a dread and decay;
All the little soldiers,
forbidden to play.
Starting off with a sombre tone
Under a stormy sky
ears to come
Is the only mark
Deemed by man
Singled out by a great margin,
Obtuse in its approach;
Living in a land of virgin,
Indifferent to any roach.
Tired and weary the horizon nears,
Under a heavy cloud of dark and grey;
Domineering with its abundant fears,
Extinguishing its final prey.