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ash4cPoems
Does it not Make sense, To want to end Your own life? To comence the deed That for you, MUST be done To undo the life That was so carelessly Bestowed upon you Does it NOT MAKE SENSE That all these 'Little things' Are causing my miseries That they have written my ending? That these DRAMA'S Have destroyed the beginning Before it has begun! The Bell! The bell! The bell has been rung. And down they slide A poison a knife More tears for sacrifice Help! Help! The Heart is gone! Anguish has taken, The lights been forsaken The song...the song! The song has been sung. No going back. To smiles and cheers. All that is left... Is pain and tears. Because the DEAD cannot DIE Without leaving behind More hurt to be sold. Leaving love to cry Why And letting it shrivel away Inside. The bell...the bell Yes the bell hath been rung. A beginning Destroyed Long before it begun This is no prayer, For the lovers and weeper Or the pleaders and mourners. This is no prayer at all. For death and the Dying , Now in their coffins they lay Have made their beds, So you see This is a poem for the dead.
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Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 10:32 PM UTC
A Poem For the Dead
Does it not Make sense, To want to end Your own life? To comence the deed That for you, MUST be done To undo the life That was so carelessly Bestowed upon you Does it NOT MAKE SENSE That all these 'Little things' Are causing my miseries That they have written my ending? That these DRAMA'S Have destroyed the beginning Before it has begun! The Bell! The bell! The bell has been rung. And down they slide A poison a knife More tears for sacrifice Help! Help! The Heart is gone! Anguish has taken, The lights been forsaken The song...the song! The song has been sung. No going back. To smiles and cheers. All that is left... Is pain and tears. Because the DEAD cannot DIE Without leaving behind More hurt to be sold. Leaving love to cry Why And letting it shrivel away Inside. The bell...the bell Yes the bell hath been rung. A beginning Destroyed Long before it begun This is no prayer, For the lovers and weeper Or the pleaders and mourners. This is no prayer at all. For death and the Dying , Now in their coffins they lay Have made their beds, So you see This is a poem for the dead.
# death # too late # suicide
Written by
ash4c
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 10:32 PM UTC
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