How will I die?


In war, by illness, or with a lie

I squeal from the pain that I hide

From the secrets in my soul I confide

In my bed I toss and turn side to side

Pillow soaked with the tears from my eyes

I hear a whisper in my ear and I sigh

The voice of death calling time on my ride

Yet, I stand, though with fear  I deny

If I must live to see the light, must kill the night

As morning creeps in again, I wonder when

My troubled world might return to haunt me then.


Dedicated to the secret struggle with addiction.

© Raphael Shonibare, 2018