What if death is the only hope i have left ?
the only dream i have left to dream ?
human self . . . . . the self
who wishes to end itself
i feel death approaching
calling me, beckoning me,
sweet death,
peace it softly whispers,
peace at long last,
what more can one ask ?
what more can one want ?
sweet death,
calling my name, Oh sweet death,
i have no qualms with you!
Other poets rage,
but no, not i,
Other poets cry,
but no, not i,
where can one find a sweeter friend ?
in what depths ? in what ocean ?
life, full of scorn–
but you, sweet death,
are no thorn,
peace beneath green trees,
sweet dear bliss,
when will you come for me my dear friend ?
when will you comfort me my dear boy ?
sweet death, fearless rest,
no more human breath,
who could be a dearer friend ?
who could be more true to thee ?
there are no deceptions, no deceits,
no broken promises – no better end,
in who other than you can trust be put ?
where else but in you can i find home ?
you are ill treated my dear friend,
poets rage on your behalf,
but no, not i,
people cry over your ways
but no, not i,
you have done me no wrong,
you have done me no harm.