Waiting To Die Poem by Leonardo Chara

O what more pain is there to feel,
than that of the terminally ill,
who see death in the distance,
and know it'll bow to no resistance.
To suffer a disease that has no cure,
an end so near and sure,
like christmas at the end of every year;
O what heart-wrenching fear,
to travel to that land unknown,
where every man must go alone,
To witness his own decay,
and mourn the faith of those who pray,
for he himself has painfully resigned,
to the fate he has been assigned;
knowing it is pointless to pretend,
or feign ignorance of his certain end.
Alas! He begins to count his days,
desperately seeking to straighten his crooked ways,
striving to do whatever it takes,
to compensate for his early mistakes,
which are way too many to be accounted for by any.
Countless crisis confront his mind,
and solace he craves to find;
this he surely doesn't get,
until his final passage unto death.