The Line Between

O God, the pangs are crushing body, soul And spirit—working deaths where sunlight fades— My arms are trunks of pain and taking toll, While tortures, stings, and sickness hauntly raids To close the Gates of Hell to shut me in, And heaven bows to greet while Hades seeks To send The Reaper with his failing grin. And illness ruins lives while havoc wreaks The squalored throes of daily living on— While body wastes away and breath remains To sing your dirge while I still carry on… Like trampling cattle trodding broken frame, I live between the sunshine and the grave— Like flowers cut and dying in the vase