I wanted to run at the sign of the end
as the man unraveled the twine at the end.
Hurt, your throat closes and hears consuming fire
My ears do not feel what you whine when you end.
What would your wish be, if you could choose to stay?
Gripped by a torrent of earth, we find our end.
Job, struck down by trials, on all sides destroyed,
his sons and daughters drinking wine at the end.
Hopeless, Why die I not from the womb? he asks,
Man, born for trials, confined by hurt that ends.
They happen to mortals in a fallen world
Smells of trees in the wind remind to the end.
As time, healer of naught, grinds Rachel to dust
We run, hoping for some kind line in the end.
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