Dear God, this body is a disaster and 
I'm anchored in a flesh too heavy to bear its own burden.

I have died a thousand deaths since birth
and sometimes this life feels like a graveyard
of anticipations buried with suffering,
But you cannot reach a thing that
was born dying not to fear death when
the only life it knows is temporary. 


Everything it hopes for seems to be
haunted by sorrow. That is the horror of
this body and it is madly in love 
with this sinful life. I'm not a lover of
 this place, for I was born enslaved to a
 thing I had no choice in. The world hangs
 from this strained necked, hoping for it to break,
 yet it expects a postured stance.

 Sometimes the flesh mocks me when 
 it is ripe with pain, 
 hoping to pluck anger from my soul.
 It laughs in tongues dipped in silence.
 It staggers through days and curses eternity
 for its limited-time.

 But I rejoice as the years' collapse on each other 
 before me.
 When these eyes go blind 
 I shall gain sight in another life.
 When the last breath is drawn 
 I shall breathe in eternity.
 And when this body is buried,
 I hope it makes peace with the earth
 it so long resisted.