The End of Anguish

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Humanism

Submitted: March 15, 2013

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Submitted: March 15, 2013

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There are those who wallow in filth
Linger in corners of the mind
Littered with cobwebs and flooded with aching memories
Shards of broken hearts, their beds
Pain, their blanket
Agonizing screams, their soundtrack
Not I
That place is a graveyard and all who wallow in it's depths
Are doomed to die
I shall live forever
Or die trying
But not wallowing
I ache, but pains heal
Scars are not festering wounds anymore
But markers of where I have been
And what I have seen
And what I have lived through
At my time
When that final bell resonates 
In the bleak silence following my final breath
I will have lived so well
That death trembled to take me
That Hell will contemplate nailing its gates shut
That angels will fall just to see the place I fell
We should all be so lucky
We are balls of light and energy
Sentient beings with luantic dreams waiting to ignite and become visceral 
We are soaring imagination with one foot in the grave
And our heads in the clouds
I suppose the problem occurs
When it's the other way around


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