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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Religious · #1179025
A poem I did for my University class assuming the role of a dying person
Voices on the car radio, they sound like saints
The blood on my hands looks like crimson paint.
Can’t remember what happened, am I in a ditch?
Saints singing continues with its heavenly pitch.

I can feel my life fading the end is surely near
I always thought when this time came I’d be crippled with fear
Lights flash around me like fireflies shine
I think back fondly to a better time

I pleaded with Christ placed on his cross.
Fate is a question in which I get lost.
On my shoulder he set his gentle hand.
My father on Sunday, a holy man

“You’ll be free child once you have died”
“From those shackles of fate in which you can’t hide”
“So just live each day and thank God for his gift”
“The burdens of life Christ will one day lift”

Is it wrong I’m happy my pain will soon end?
No longer feel guilt of mistakes I can’t mend.
The light it grows stronger, their faces I see
Oh thank you oh Lord, I am finally free
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