Categories > Original > Poetry1 Reviews
When will this dying stop?
I'm really not sure.
The more I waste life, the more life flies by;
Will I regret this the day that I die?
As I lay in my coffin to be put down to rest,
am I withered and old or looking my best?
"Heaven or hell?", I ask as I die.
I should have asked that while I was still alive.
"Five minutes is all I ask! To ask for forgivness for my sinset tasks!"
I hear a voice whisper in my ear,
soothing, soft and so sincear.
"Five minutes? Sorry, I cannot give. You've had years and years
to ask me to forgive!"
Life ran out. The light grows fade.
The scary thought of what could be my last day.