A twisted poem from the grave after my passing, and my encounter with God |
-Dying Day- by Keaton Foster The clock Rings true My heart Is doomed Dying day Mother is close Father is no place Other siblings All but strangers I’d say They don’t care But the truth is I don’t know How it is they feel Or of what they care A priest has come What will he say Lies I’m sure I have no ability To stop him I have no ability To believe him Upon a stone Words show Beginning And end In between Is my existence Existentialism Spread wide and thin Fighting every system Has always seemed right But I could not have been More wrong Dying day A prayer Kind lies told Few have attended Fewer will know Tragic is my glow I was made for this Whatever this is God may have forgotten All that I’ve done Soon in his presence I will find myself Once he remembers Harshly I’ll be judged Across all distance My punishment Will be carried out One thing that is for sure We always get what we Have come to deserve I am nothing special No different with regard To what is deserved Dying day Not an ounce of pain No more will I suffer Never again will I fear Regardless of what’s next Or of what God has in store I am as ready as I’ll ever be Dying day Inside my chest Inside my skull Within all that I believe And all that I don’t Few are here Even fewer care At the feet of God I have come to kneel I’ll ask for forgiveness But I won’t expect it I’ll pay for what I’ve done And what I have refused As I should… Dying Day Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2014. |