Dear journal,
Tell me it isn't over,
For I know not where to go.
If this is the end of the line,
No one had told me so.
The seasons turned and changed
Till all I saw was snow.
Now the hands of time are slowing,
I may have finished my show.
The reaper has knocked,
Telling me my time has come.
I looked into his hollow eyes
Knowing what next is to be done.
But the question is: Where do I go?
Do I go to the place of hatred,
Hotter than the sun?
Ruled by an angel,
That god had chose to shun?
Or do I go up,
To where the souls are warmed with fun?
Where I know that I'll be safe
and never have to run?
So tell me it isn't over,
For I know not where to go.
If this is the end of the line,
No one had told me so.
YOU ARE READING
Twinkle of an eye
PoetryThis is a tale Of 2 people in love. Will their ship sail? Or fly like a dove? Some romances end Like Romeo and Juliet, Where their luck tends to drive them Away from their goal set. Will this be a happy tale, Or one quite sad? I don't know! Read it...
