I spent so many years,

Doing nothing but crying.

But now I'm out of tears,

All despite my trying.

Not because I've overcome fears,

But because my soul is dying.

As the light draws near,

I welcome the arms; prying.

Is it the reach of someone I loved so dear,

Or is it the demon on which I'm used to relying?

 

If I could get back those years,

Would I still be crying?

Would I still have tears?

Would I still be trying?

My biggest fear,

Is of never dying.

As the end draws near,

I wait for arms; prying.

Is it an angel who loves me so dear,

Or is it the demon on which I'm used to relying?

 

Jarred Shah

8/13/2020

10:57pm