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Rated: E · Poetry · Adult · #2014357
A twisted poem from the grave after my passing, and my encounter with God

-Dying Day-
by Keaton Foster
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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.

© Copyright 2014 Keaton Foster: Know My Hell! (keatonfoster at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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