by buckboyy

Created on: May 31, 2008

The Ill will:

Sick and tired of feeling ill everyday,
my mind and body in pain from decay.
I jerk and shake and sometimes quiver,
feeling the pain from my head to my liver.

I fall and seize then lay in a heap,
I pray to the Lord, my soul to keep.
Lucifer laughs at my agony of pain,
he hopes my prayers will be in vane.

At night I lay and stare to the sky,
thinking that wellness is just a lie.
Too much advice and gobs of pills,
mind over matter can't cure my ills.

I'm sad and scared without any strength,
the tunnel's light seems too far at length.
My shoulders shrug in total disgust,
I've lost my cheerfulness in the dust.

There's much to be said about my life,
everyone's crying, especially my wife.
Once I was an astute and strong guy,
I wonder if I'm getting ready to die?

Before I leave there's one request,
to not be remembered as a pitiful pest.
I must teach someone how to be well,
it just might keep them from going to Hell.

Learn more about this author, buckboyy.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.