In intense fear of death,
Trying to hold onto whatever years you have left.
Sneaking suspicions of a life unlived.
Giving and receiving of an empty gift.
Skin is fading,
And your eyes are like nothing.
The life is playing in the bodies lacking the fear;
A place where emptiness is full and everything is clear.
Collect all your memories,
Put them in your box.
Fill your heart with words,
Of a life lacking love.
Pass your box onto someone else,
A representation of feeling,
An emptiness that breeds ill health,
A place dry of healing.
Experiences will come,
Experiences will go.
At the end of all this play,
It is the truth we will know.
© 2012 Emma Sumner
Trying to hold onto whatever years you have left.
Sneaking suspicions of a life unlived.
Giving and receiving of an empty gift.
Skin is fading,
And your eyes are like nothing.
The life is playing in the bodies lacking the fear;
A place where emptiness is full and everything is clear.
Collect all your memories,
Put them in your box.
Fill your heart with words,
Of a life lacking love.
Pass your box onto someone else,
A representation of feeling,
An emptiness that breeds ill health,
A place dry of healing.
Experiences will come,
Experiences will go.
At the end of all this play,
It is the truth we will know.
© 2012 Emma Sumner