Every moment,
Of every day,
There are thoughts
Running through our minds.
Some are random,
Some are rational.
Others are thought through,
Others a logic.
But when your dying,
Or taking yur life,
There are no thoughts.
It's quiet up there.
The voices stop.
The questions to.
It's peacful.
It's nice.
So, thats why,
why I did this.
I did it for the silence.
The sweet,
Blisful,
Silence.
As the last drop of drop,
Of blood,
Leaves my body,
I think,
This,
This is nice.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem