How Many More Years

How many more years, do I have to show for? How many more years, does man ask of me to do the do? How many more years, can I hold out smoking; before the black cancer eats away my heart? How many more years, do I face love all alone, with not a angel nor demon by my side? How many more years, shall I live life a fear of dying, without trace of a paradise in the afterlife? How many more years, shall I suffer from the tourment of mockery and jig-saw puzzles that make me struggle and feel a sort of pain that stabs so deep into my heart, to the point where I cannot feel the thumping of the clock of life. Till I see such mates and lovers stride with perfection and desolation I shall be happy with the remaining years within the remaining years, and live those still remaining years all alone in perfection and poetry and beautiful roses shall litter the gardens of the dead and dying and my mind shall shack and shiver and become dizzy with such thought, of how many more years! Tick and tock, the clock goes, as the thumping and striding of a foolish heart goes into darkness unwanted, unloved, charming in his own way and own definition; and he shall stride to a pretty how town and dance marry and be himself and for one joyous night, he shall not think so much of time and death, but to think how many more years, do I have to live life with a smile?