Storm

I wish that my, most present eyes, could see the lives we drop

It seems that lives, in crescent slice, can be the die that stops

And if my last eternal lie is something that I lose

I only hope that burning hell is the same hell that I choose

For all the world’s a swirling storm that rages at my stern

My bow is smashed upon the rocks of painted on concern

But now the ship is at world’s end and nothing screams below

Only the black is staring back as I tumble midst the flow

I cling to self-deception, as grimly as I can

My only wish now at the twix is to hear the voice and-