What finest hour grasped within,
Better chance forthwith endows;
Alas kept paths split better,
Wonder round this isle forsake,
Only waves comfort my last;
Sounds so calm in unison;
Theirs of virtue that I lack:
Made this lasting scorn resolved,
For this am worthy of none,
Deserving of disrespect;
Dire for welcomed Death behold.

So finer the day depletes,
Silence so but waves sound these,
No command in scope, not one;
Though one effected on me,
This my day finishes me.
Methinks this poison in me
Is as factual as my birth;
For on I to leave him,
Must for his prerogative.

That of these waves beneath felt,
So none to take me better;
Shines this the sun gasps.
For read this that am lost,
This focus faints,
As do my life.

Category:
Life, Mysterious, Nature, Poetry, Works
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