The Sharpest Spear
What life has to do with unpreventable death,
if all I do is live without scope or time...
not being the least aware of loss of breath?
These years are lived with remorseful treason,
being afraid of losing my battle...
while fate scorns me with constant derision!
Who lived an existence of tormenting thoughts,
bearing pain without emitting a single moan,
and hiding them well behind false pretensions?
All I have left is this faith glowing in the shadows of winter...
it diverges any wind that might put it out with a strong blow,
but determined to keep it burning: neither I fret nor shiver!
Angry fate, cast no stones...my end must come abruptly;
strike me with the sharpest spear and spare me agony.
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2013
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