I've seen life in laughter,
while time was busy mocking.
A door shut on my face,
a door on which I kept knocking.

A door to a house of promise,
built of cards on a stormy night.
Right next to the mausoleum stood,
where the last man with hope had died.

A door decorated in melted gold,
kissed by the sun itself.
and I kept knocking, praying
my snowballs wouldn't burn in hell.

A man I am who has spent a life
that some consider wasted.
Yet some men live a life just so
they are able to taste death.

I am of the latter as
much as of the former.
A lifetime of doing nothing
except wishing it was longer.

Ships drowned in storm lights
but never in the storm.
Nature's little mischief
that man tried to reform.

I believe life is better off
lived and forgotten.
Greeted with cheers in the cradle,
dismissed with silence in the coffin.

Death has guided me to this door
as it had done once  before.
I've fought my way through life
and wished to, once more.