End of Days
The end of days grows very near, I’m not sure if I’ll be here next year.
Dealing with what I was told, you have cancer and might not grow old.
I’m fighting death with every breath, living my life with all my might.
Down on my knees, giving thanks for life with just one kidney.
I know when I’m gone and six feet deep, resting in that eternal sleep.
My dreams will be that my son will see that World Series that eluded me.
This poem was written/submitted by valentino.
(5 votes, average: 4.20 out of 5)
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May 15th, 2009 22:57
awsome poem