February 12, 2010

Lung capacity failing,
gasping in air.
Living on the railing,
thinking life’s not fair.

Hair slowly falling out,
body is becoming weak.
They follow the route,
the powerful become meek.

Wearing an itchy wig,
to hide the hair loss.
Life is a never ending gig,
only without a boss.

Fear shoots through the mind,
wondering will they live.
The past is behind,
the future wants to give.

Nightmares about the deceased,
giving out less and less hope.
The good night sleep has ceased,
like a man’s lifeless body hanging from rope.

Sitting in the hospital,
thinking about loved ones.
Remembering life is optional,
with rising and falling snows.

Pulling through it,
they feel so great.
Living is something to be writ,
do it before its to late.

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