Late

Finding myself where some call paradise
Losing myself sleeping as much as I
Am able with daily dosings of rice
And trying unsuccessfully to die
Between fits of exercise while grieving
For what is gone but will not go away
Such hope as I find is found believing
That someone will find these poems someday

If someone does what might that someone say?
"A fool turned paradise to private hell
But although he lived badly he wrote well"?
For this I will hope for this I will grope
My way through my day which always is night
Trusting to fate it will all turn out right...

If late

+Steven Curtis Lance



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