Novel & Cerita Poetry About Dying Young

I know where the rabbit trails branch off, where the old oak with the hollow trunk stands, where the wild raspberries grow in summer. None of that matters now. Because I'm not supposed to be here. Every step takes me closer to the border, closer to leaving, closer to becoming nothing. The rejection sickness hits in waves. One minute I'm walking, the next I'm on my knees, heaving into the ferns. My head pounds. My vision blurs. It's like the worst flu I've ever had, times a thousand. *This is what dying feels like?* No. Dying would be easier. Dying would be over.

He was about to curse himself when he found neat handwriting next to his poem. Rayven was confused, but his eyes followed the words, reading it to his brain quietly. Life is not a lot Life is just a thought As beautiful as I want Does not have to haunt It is full of ups and downs Of highs and lows of different towns With lights and nights of equal time You live and die for every dime I see the light that's not too dim I see that it is not so grim So, I try to light my world for me I try to listen; not hear from me

My head, it hurts so bad. This is it. This is the end, isn't it? Blood keeps flowing to the floor beneath my big head, like a puddle of rain of death. Yes, this is the end.How can I still see? I have a chance right? No, impossible. There is no fixing this. I need to sleepI'm tired, so tired. But I cannot give in, I cannot sleep. To sleep means to die, I must stay strong. But my body can't take it anymore, perhaps I should just sleep and save my strength until help arrives. Yes, yes that would be best. Save my strength. Help will be here soon.I heard footsteps.I don't think I'm going to make it. No, I know I'm not going to make it. It all ends here, this is where I die. That's okay, I don't

"Death is before me today: like the recovery of a sick man, like going forth into a garden after sickness. Death is before me today: like the odour of myrrh, like sitting under a sail in a good wind. Death is before me today: like the course of a stream; like the return of a man from the war-galley to his house. Death is before me today: like the home that a man longs to see, after years spent as a captive."

(Who knows, when the death is near Who knows, the last evening of our life comes I am just waiting for the time that That my life would be useful for my any friend) **** Mehfil bhi royegi, har dil bhi royega Dubi jo meri kashti to saahil bhi royega Hum itna pyaar bikher denge duniya me Meri mout pe mera katil bhi royega. (Everyone will cry, every heart will cry If my ship sank, the sea shore will also cry, I will spread so much love everywhere that My murderer will also cry on my death) **** Kitne khushnaseeb hote hum, Agar zindagi ek tasweer ki tarah hoti.

Dad turned around and sighed lightly. "Mr. Poole, this is my son. He's playing dead to get out of donating blood. The blood on the floor is from him deliberately smashing the blood bag in a fit of temper. Pay him no mind—the more he acts out, the more I need to teach him a lesson and fix that rotten attitude of his."

A tribute: Lady Bana’s Poem: “Life is a thread we weave in storms, Stitching dreams through quiet forms. We rise, we fall, we burn, we freeze, We beg for time, but Time won't cease. Death is not the end, my friend, Just a bend where echoes blend. You go where silence drinks the light, Beyond our reach, beyond our sight. But I, who stay, must wear the pain, A sword of loss, a crown of rain. Farewell, my sword, my foolish warrior, The game is now on, and I must fight to avenge.”

I always thought I’d die satisfied with my reign, with what I am leaving behind, but at this very moment I realise just how less I have actually lived. Regret that I will never be able to express the way I feel for the pretty little blond princess who turned out to be mine, regret that I’ll never hear her whisper those three words to me… I’ll die with her heart-wrenching screams in my ear… I wish someone told the living that when we are dying don’t scream, don’t tell us to come back, but tell us how you feel and that we’ll meet again. I wish… I had more time, but the poison is spreading through me rapidly. I’ll be dead before they can help me…

You will not rob us of that. You've lost your fair share of battles. You have come against those who refuse to go gentle into the night. I will rage against the dying of the light. I will rage against you. And, my light will still shine bright. We might accept that you are here. We know that we need to accept that this is not our fault and that there is nothing that we can do about it. But what we can do is fight and fight we will. Yes, life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming "Wow! What a Ride!"

i can't stop thinking what should happen to me if i didn't go to the west but what could i possibly do now i will die tomorrow this cold and dark place i can't see any hope that we will leave the rotten smell of this place is littering in my body i know that i smell like dead people but i don't really care suddenly i feel like my senses shuts down all i care right now is to die in peace i want to die quietly maybe i should ask them to just stab me with their sword i don't care how many times they want to do it but at least i will not feel that my body is being buried alive to think that i would cry because my body is burning i will not die that instant and i don't want that I want to die ins