Sick Poem by maas weerabangsa

Sick
The Maker of all human soul,
My enlarged prostrate sickness control,
To you I present my humble case.
Do cure me by your grace.

Have mercy on what I endure,
I pray and hope for a cure,
There was a time like a bird I was free,
But now dear God it is not so to be.

My agony I shall disclose in brief,
As I silently suffer in grief,
Yet I know not where I should begin,
As I do feel that I am full of sin.

A tightening I feel down in my belly,
A feeling I cannot understand fully.
It makes me deaf, dumb and even blind,
Believe me it drives me crazy and clouds my mind.

The pain in my belly makes me sick and lame,
It fills me with a dreadful fear and shame.
A million evil thoughts that are no good,
I do then hate even my food.

The pain starts to accelerate in my breast,
And deny me of even my much needed rest.
Dear God hear my pitiful cry,
Let me not suffer, let me die.