My Words Poem by William Mowell

I try to write happy stuff,
Like sipping from lifes cup

It usually ends in tragedy,
Images from my minds debris

It doesn't mean that I'm brokenhearted,
I'm just living in a land thats uncharted

I'm a man of a thousand words,
Like a wrangler I herd

But sheep and goats are not my cattle,
It's the broken down that I saddle

I give them something to drown themselves in,
My words are like some kind of sin

I give you pleasure and I give you pain,
I wont live forever, I might not find fame

If I touch one person with my words,
I've done my job and I can go with the birds

I can go and meet my maker,
Give my body to the undertaker

Six foot down, but my soul will rise,
You have to die, to find the prize

Golden gates and I will see his face,
The golden city, I will embrace

A better life, after I'm dead and gone,
The people on earth will sing their songs

But no crying needs to be done for me,
I'll be in heaven, I'll be set free