Silent, stood the scream of me,
Shackled by the fear;
Dementia’s ghost is close at hand,
And Death is almost here.
Confident with his mask of lies,
He now hungers for the end;
Expecting Death at any time,
Like they had been old friends.
I glanced at him and knew his pain,
And one day I’ll understand;
That when he dove into his darkness,
He was sure to hold Death’s hand.
Madness choked the scream of him,
I pray he’s found his peace;
For he hung himself with ropes of guilt,
That were dangled by the Beast.
