Trying To Survive On Feeble Hope

I've been detached from anyone, and specially life, merely trying to survive on feeble hope, dangling from this rough and steep rock; I look above and another view transforms my strife. I tried to be that invincible hero, helping others ignoring myself and, most times, my indispensable needs; putting others first, if they were part of my family... as the truthful words of the Gospels brought perfect clarity. On my last days, I'm trying to survive on feeble hope, wishing that they wouldn't forget me when silence surrounds me, when every delightful memory will make my throat chocke; comfort me and assure me that there'll be a serene place awaiting me. At times, I was overtaken by anger, shouting to bring peace to an incident of jealousy, or an act of mischievousness; forgive me for my behavior, and you may have called me a square, an almost senile old man...being ridiculed for his bad manner. Now, your age is void of knowledge, of the wisdom I still seek, perhaps your intentions are naive and harmless; I understand how bizarre it can be when youth is at its highest peak: disregarding wise words that can correct your whims. In dire and discontent, I'm trying to survive on feeble hope, and my mission is almost complete: from a prophesied birth... to an unannounced death, unless everyone awakens and realizes my hurt; but if my conscience is righteous and pure, wouldn't Heaven pull up my rope?