"Sick"

"Sick," I whispered, crying as it fell.
Depravéd demons, never meaning well,
Fading backwards into shattered pasts;
I want for lack of having, since having never lasts.

"Sick" I trembled, not wise enough to grow;
The day too young for wonder, the earth too old to know.
Trudging forwards, rapt to persevere,
Yet slowly fading backwards; never growing near.

"Sick" now laughing, still a child at heart;
Laughter isn't knowledge, but it is a start.
Fearing knowing as the bane of men,
I forget what I know to better start again.

"Sick" die screaming, shouting at the earth;
Jump quick from anger to demented mirth.
Unwell I die, made sick from all my rage;
Death now calmly guides me; God then turns the page.