Worthwhile After-all. By CpSingleton © 2014
In those dark moments, where
Only my own voice echoes from
The cold rock of my skull,
Such as now, I fear death.
Not for its unforgiving last explosion of
Body spasming pain, that
Winds down the cogs and
Closes all the arteries and veins.
Pain passes and is left behind.
It is a concept I put up with
Every single day.
I will not miss its nagging asides.
Is it then the wasted years?
The scrabbling in dust and dirt of
Others peeled hair and skin to
Find a place where a plate of brass
Is placed to denote my existence?
Or is it
That one dreaded final solitary journey
On a road that will never allow us
To watch the sun rise nor
Feel it’s comforting heat on living skin?
Where friends acquired and
Loved ones nurtured and cared for
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