A Hand For My Perfect End Poem by Okonkwo Osamedua. Allen

Does it hurt so bad
So much to make you mad?
Does it rip your heart apart
So that your strenght depart?
Does it wear you inside out
And bring your tears running south?
Yes! It does more to me
For all the good there be
It turns my sweat crimson flood
And my wounded soul dripping blood
Yet through the death of some of me
Even in the midst of my solemn plea
I find this strenght within
And a voice chanting ' thou shall win'
So out with those pain and sweat- turned red
Out with those heat and south bound tears
Even my wounded soul that bled
And the host of my mortal fears
All shall this moment lend
A hand for my perfect end