Harder Than The End Poem by Anthony Fortunato

Someone said there are things worse than death.
Like inexorable loneliness
while cradling your lover,
Toiling for a stipend
to toil once more
echoing throughout your years.
Accomplishing great feats
of miserable wickedness.
Unhinged, wide eyed anger and fear,
the parasitic part of your nature.
Crumbling vows
falling on your beaten bones
darkening the universe.

Death is easy.

Creeping, crawling,
slowly suffering
towards the doorway out.
Weeping, shouting,
begging for the end.

Is hard.