Though I am of youthful age,
I fear for those final days,
For when I'm lying at deaths door,
I wonder what I'll see once more.
Maybe all my awful feats,
The times I lost my temper,
Maybe all those eaten meats,
The animals so tender.
Yet, I wonder, so inspired,
What inside will make me tired,
If my heart will soon give in,
And leave me to die to Satans whim.
Woe is me, yet woe is all,
I don't fear you, anymore,
We all shall die at some point.
I still do wonder what I'll see,
If Demonic things take over me,
If after death there's nothing at all,
And if i'm losing all my awe.
For things no longer inspire me,
I'm aging fast, yet optimistically,
I hope one day I'll have a wife,
Perhaps two children will suffice,
Maybe grand-kids to teach my ways.
I'm nearing the end of what I'll say,
But to think that I've lost all my days,
I find it hard to not believe,
That everyone is losing me,
That nobody shall keep their thoughts,
That I shall crawl through heavens door,
And let myself get taunted by the idea of an afterlife,
I find myself pitied once more.
Like when I was young in age,
I trawl through every single page,
As if I am back in the school,
Relearning how to use my tools.
I'm not sure If I'm allowed to say, but thank you for reading this today, I've never posted on this site, and am awed by the sight of poems by unknown authors and loving people, from memories of forgotten days.
I am only young in years and wish I had much more to say, on how I gained My Fear of Age.