When will I die
What time of day will it be
What final thoughts will pass me
Who'll say goodbye?
And have I found love
Or a sweet place to call home,
Does the rain fall gently
Or is my death marked by catastrophe?
Do people think me a hero?
Or am I a fool passed to their relief,
Can they understand even
The expression that I give?
I feel, though breathing is heavy
And storms harder to bear as well,
That all which raised me
Must too come to fruition.
But must it come to fruition
At the eleventh hour
When the sun has dipped
And the sea's grown heavy with tears?
Though the clouds come in
Always carrying their bounty,
And the westerlies carried roses,
Why should the men?
John Lockers
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