Poetry

Poem: Joy in Death

I don't count seconds and I don't count joy.

I count this life that has gone from the inside the soul

that is ripe and torn from the boy

who used to live only save by The Son.



Of sin and despair in the final hour

wishing he lived no more, dreamed no more.

To finalize the tower of bitterness while sour

by the thorn, by the sorrow and bore.



Take away this sanity,

save me from myself.

flavor away this agony

from the time when I'm dead.

 

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