A Project for Better Journalism chapter
Creative Writing

My Time

So young, with so much time ahead they say

An immense urn of eighty years to spend

But my time will leak with each passing day,

it will eventually reach an end

 

In my fifteen years I’ve never known death,

All that I love is still alive and well,

But one day distant I’ll take my last breath,

and wonder if I will wake up in hell

 

Such somber thoughts I shall not entertain,

One life, nothing more is all we’re given.

Dwell on this, and I will not remain sane.

Stop worrying and go do some living.

 

If perhaps in life the world I enhance,

then in death I may get another chance.

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