The guiding hand, clenched in its fist,
Cares not for the chances we’ve missed.
Bony fingers tighten ‘round us,
Of Devil or God confounds us.

Fate’s hand places us where it will,
Objections met with an eerie still.
The Devil’s hand or of the Lord,
Punishments can look like reward.

The benevolent hand at play,
Requests for which we blindly pray,
Indifferent which powerful font,
God or Devil gives what we want.

A hand from beyond has control
In return it asks for our soul.
What if ere we die we live good?
Is the Devil misunderstood?

You said you'd like to start again and maybe then you could feel fine and maybe you would be less afraid if this were a different life.

I was hoping you could forgive yourself for all the things you thought of but didn't ever do but you kept wearing away at yourself until there was nothing left of you.

I know that you'd sell your soul to any agent of change if they could give you what you needed most, but instead you waited in vain.

You left here on a north bound plane, never to be heard from again but I like to think you found your peace and a whole new life to begin.