Should I ever come to the end of my road,
when I meet the doorman of death,
I shall hope that he care just enough to heed my last request.
I would not pray for hope, nor life, nor freedom.
I should ask him, "Dear Death,
might you listen to me now?
I beg to find my final breath
upon Earth's broken brow;
the crashing waves, day or night,
the pum'ling seaside cloud,
the falling rocks, their endless plight,
and distant ******* growls,
the fading sun, the rising moon;
I even feel their gaze.
Dear Death, I shall not wait the more,
please take me where I lay."
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 8:27 PM UTC
Should I ever come to the end of my road,
when I meet the doorman of death,
I shall hope that he care just enough to heed my last request.
I would not pray for hope, nor life, nor freedom.
I should ask him, "Dear Death,
might you listen to me now?
I beg to find my final breath
upon Earth's broken brow;
the crashing waves, day or night,
the pum'ling seaside cloud,
the falling rocks, their endless plight,
and distant ******* growls,
the fading sun, the rising moon;
I even feel their gaze.
Dear Death, I shall not wait the more,
please take me where I lay."
There is a breathing wish,
a wish that lies beneath the ***** of man;
the desire to feel connection.
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