Be careful what you ask God for

Destitute, alone, and dying,

In inconceivable amounts of pain,

My soul knocks on the great door with its final knock.

The same door I have sat by and knocked all the days of my life.

All religion and philosophies aside, I have wasted my life.

Yet I am a repository of all the grace I have been given.

My life used up buy my love has not,

It’s just that at this point I find no one to give it to.

And I feel a vast emptiness, because I never found the answers I sought for.

Even though I came to understand I would not find them on this side of death's cursed door.

What was the point to my existence here anyway?

My love exists in those I have loved as they also reach the wretched door.

And has not advanced them in the slightest to the answers they have searched for.

For I know they cannot be found,

But by the faith I lost and can no longer find,

Because I no longer find it as true.

There was simply not enough evidence to convince me,

Besides the unmet longing in my soul.

So this is the bitter end,

And there is nothing left to be said my friend,

But goodbye.

Life and the joy of youth will continue without me.

And the misfortune that has followed me will pass with me.

To my unmarked grave,

To my ashes spread in the wasteland I lived in.

To feed the roots, to grow the fruits, to be eaten by future hopeless souls.

To continue the grand deception that there is meaning to be found in this life.

But there is life yet to be lived in this body before its pointless end.

And I do not wish to take those days away from it.

And my eyes still find beauty in the fading flower.

So when I go, even alone, I cannot find fault in the energy that sustained me along the way,

And the hope that this life was but one of my eternal days.

Who is the one who forces me to write a last line of hope when all I searched for is despair?

Why do the stanzas that begin in emptiness find their end with some new thought to sustain them?

Other then that I have found the bedrock of my existence,

Even though I do not understand it.

And If I have that in the end I am not destitute.

If I have that in the end I cannot die alone.

It was my body, which that thought – my soul, found as home.

That thought alone.