Knocking on Hell's Door

'Knocking on Hell's Door'


Angst, wrote Kierkegaard,

Is the anxiety of freedom

When one stands on a cliff's precipice

And realises to fall or not is entirely up

To none other than one's very own self.


I told a woman I loved her

She didn't feel the same

I wrote a heartfelt sonata

And now try to move on

Free of speculation and lust.


But in this freedom

I'm ill at ease

Unsure how to proceed

Wracked, knocked askew by incertitude

Not forgiven, rather forsaken by myself


Thus hell is my very own self.