by Carli Chisenall
I think a lot.
I think a lot about death.
The soft whisper of a soul,
finally escaping its prison of flesh and sin.
That one last exhausted breath.
Solace, at last.
I think a lot.
I think a lot about life.
It is everything and nothing.
A gift taken for granted,
A burden, a waste.
Gone as quickly as it came.
I think a lot.
I think a lot about love.
A reason to breathe.
A reason to bleed.
A reason to be.
Category: Poetry, SNHU Creative Writing, SNHU online creative writing, SNHU Student