Death
Death, Is an evening, The warmth of the day fading, Into a cold, pink twilight It’s not the busy hours, Of planned thoughts, Nor the safe moments Of consumed nights. It's the in between uncertainty Of not knowing Whether it was good, Or it gets better. When I die, Let me die when the first bird sings, Or in the silence of satisfied stars. Let me not go in a restless daze Waiting, waiting, waiting For everything to change...