Some Destiny

I'll be close

to 50

and I'll be broke,

wasted, tired,

mad and crazy.

I'll be living upon

dead memories,

past loves,

lifes I didn't live

and dreams,

by all means.

I'll be breathing

smoke in hell

with Jesus Christ

alone, all alone

with that far away look in the eyes

and that deep sigh

of grieve.

I'll by writing

sad poems

without relieve,

sad songs,

sad words in a

sad world

of wondering

and never knowing.

I'll be through with

all, all the way

down,

just waiting

for the next dawn

and still

I won't be ready

nor willing

to go.