Finally the call.
At that point the inquiries. - How? Why?
At that point comes the roaring thunder -
Of quietness in answer.
The main restless night;
Recollections swarm like honey bees.
At last the sun rises
On the primary day that you will never observe.
When did everything
Get ugly?
When did your gifts
Become such a revile?
When did the child with the lemonade stand
Who cherished riding his bicycle the extent that he was capable
Become the child with the cigarette pack?
When did "help" transform into "empower"?
Finally you found
That a surge without equivalent
Would satisfy everything you could ever hope for
Also, required just a needle.
However, the needle is an unforgiving courtesan
Also, she requests
Total steadfastness
To her orders.
Untruth, cheat, take
This and then some.
Just to give proper respect
At the foot of her entryway.
She WILL NOT be "restored."
She WILL NOT "disappear."
She WILL frequent you to the grave
For the remainder of your life.
Also, what of the child
With the lemonade stand?
He settled on one lethal decision, which
Just later did he comprehend.
The passing of one so youthful
May appear to be dismal to excess.
However more troubled still the reality
That solitary demise may give alleviation.
Would you censure one so youthful
To this life he knows very well?
At that point God may ask, "What right have YOU
To condemn him to Hell?"
Past Death's entryway may lie
Some domain or land wherein
The agonies of life are lifted
Also, harmony is found inside.
However, no guide of THIS world
Focuses the best approach to such a land.
Either such a spot doesn't exist
Or on the other hand is past the ken of Man.
Would you be able to see that kid upon his bicycle?
The delight upon his face?
Try not to resent one last surge
As he competitions to Death's warm grasp.
He rides the flood of that strong surge,
Hopelessness blurring into the past.
This universe of misfortune not his anxiety
As his heart - gradually thumps - its last.