Death

THEN

Life was tough, tough on the streets,

And for life, they had front seats.

No glitter, no shine, no polished sheen

For the young family and now man of sixteen

 

They would wander from place to place

And thus sit out those cruel days

Scavenged dustbins for dregs of food

And that was the best that they really could.

 

But nights were tougher, longer,

Icy calm would prove stronger

Then all clothes they could manage

Suffering impossible to guage

 

Despite cruelty, they still went on,

Waiting in desperation for the next morn

It could be better, it could be worse,

It didn’t matter, life was a curse

 

And on a night that spoke of death itself

His father did so to a leaving  life

He still clung on to trembling shackles

Pleading his son for a new miracle

 

And the son cringed, it was beyond him

His father slipped to a comatose dream

It wasn’t right, It wasn’t fair

He screamed in silent despair

 

NOW

Its been four and thirty years now

And how I managed, only I know

Now rich, but clinging to some roots

Has led my labors to the sweetest fruits

 

But whatever I do, wherever I am

I know my entire life is a sham

‘Cause it still feels like yesterday

When I knelt down at father’s side to pray

 

I have children now, and they live

And through them my childhood I relive

They are happy and content, I think

But my sanity is on the brink

 

It used to be hard, and still is

Only hard work and what luck gives

It could be better, It could be worse

It doesn’t matter, Life’s still a curse

 

And as I now lie, a last sigh

In the best bed that money can buy

And now I know I have to die

But death my son hopes to defy

 

And as consciousness slips away from me

And as grieving family sits beside my knees

It is not right, It is not fair

My son screams in silent despair.

 

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