As I sit before my theater of days,
Off to my right I direct my gaze.
I thought nothing of it, I didn’t understand,
He held up his arms, pushed the button in hand.
Then there was black, no light around,
I couldn’t feel anything, nor hear a sound.
Not pained or hurt or hot or cold,
Not a sense at all for me to behold.
Only the sound of my own worried mind,
Forever, my thoughts, will I be confined?
What is it to die? And should I fear?
I’ll wait for death, or is it now here?
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