I clasp onto my history as a fever from the past,
And recall the restless years that I hoped would ever last,
But of course the disappointment is a real and empty one,
My recollection’s mostly errors over silly things I done.
But recent indications sent me, to some people I must thank,
And recollections that I spoke about, have misted off to blank
The misery I spoke about, to reap a future that’s unseen,
With formation of creation in a blissful pleasant scene.
This creation though to many is but meaningless and bland,
And is something very private no one else could understand,
For something that cannot be seen, is felt wafting through the air,
It has no smell, it has no taste, but of course I know it’s there.
It is not a slowly creeping gain but more a beacon shining bright,
To show you through your darkness that there is a guiding light,
And it’s built from one creation that two lives can now fulfill,
Where only death can separate and death it surely will.