By the light of the moon

The thought of death takes hold

It grips me tightly in its grasp

In it’s boney, cold clutch

My mind becomes a prison

There is no longer the will

There is no longer the hope

There is no longer the desire

Nothing to guide me to the dawn

I just continually wonder

Will it finally end or will it go on

Will I awake in the morning

Or will I be forever gone

                     - Ritu