Freedom of Choice
Tonight the brightest of winter moons light up the clear sky
and there’s no escaping the wind that blows so hard and dry.
I use my arm try to protect my face from the biting cold,
but the chill is searching my body for my hidden soul.
It’s my choice that I’m wrapped in newspapers lying on the ground,
and I’m sorry if tomorrow this is the way my body is found.
I’m just a stupid old fool that’s been forced to live life this way,
and no one wants a cantankerous old dog that has had its day.
I don’t want to end my life waiting to die in an old folk’s home,
watching the clock everyday, as the skin wrinkles on my bones.
Seeing all the other unfortunates losing heart as they pass away,
I’d rather the wind take my breath and carry my soul this day.
poem by Orlando Belo
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
No comments until now.