I held on as long as I could

Waiting for it to grow like I knew it should

A grip so tight that death had to flex

Sure that what I had planned was what was best

Now I’m preparing a eulogy I’m not ready for

Seems that trajectory doesn’t aim for my target anymore

Six feet under holds a future that will never be

Laid to rest is a person that I thought was me

But during my mourning, I’m surprisingly comforted

Nothing seems to breed new life like news of the dead

My plan was wrong, but my future still draws close

Honestly, after examination, it’s what suites me the most

The seed I planted is buried and nowhere to be found

But it’s a harvest, not a plant, to which I am bound

So now I say a tearful goodbye to what I thought

And I saddle up to the task becoming what I ought

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