This inevitable thing,
we call death,
is calling me,
through this pain,

Going down a path,
of rough road,
tangled in trees,
is my life,

Will I be free?
free from pain,
from hate, from life?
I need relief,

When will it come?
at the very end,
of that twisting road?
it seems impossible,

To live after this,
when will it come?
the relief?

Leave a Reply