priscilla's chronicles

they say i have cancer,

 

What can I say?

my last breath is approaching the grave.

 

Find me weeping,

Find me weeping

For everything here now seems like genuine nonsense:

temporal merries of  food,

heaps and heaps of gold at home,

dances I shared with a lover,

fine clothes from Paris.

Nonsense.

sheer nonsense,

i look directly at the coming unknown,

of hell, heaven & other galaxies.

Help me for

I used to think,

World merriments would

stretch their bliss to where I now have to go,

thought those sacred moments of life would

lend their energies to my departing soul,

find me weeping,

for I now realise my folly surmises,

find me on my knees,

beseeching whoever awaits me there

to clear my conscious before

my soul departs,

help my poor soul,

help my unbelief,

 

& save me from damnation...