Every Journey Has an End

As I roam these streets I used to know,
These people carrying their burdens in tow...
I regret my inability to help them
while they plunged themselves 
headfirst into misery right then.
And hearing the church bells
of the dying men,
I realized then,
"Who cares anyway?
We will die soon any day,
any time, any year."
With my death not anywhere near,
this life I start to fear.
All of the things I do not know,
my deprivation is starting to show.
My feelings are on the surface,
certainly not behind a veil.
No matter how much I try,
I cannot deny,
that I am weak and cowardly,
this you know hardly.
But it is clear
that I hold my friends dear.
And that there is nothing for me to fear.
I am kind and softhearted,
one of my many faults.
Many from me have parted,
some quietly fading,
some cold-bloodedly.
I only lose battles by my enemies raiding 
the only sanctuary available to me:
my mind, forcing me to lose sanity...
These reasons force me to see,
that the world is not as perfect as can be.
We must find our own paths in this
perilous journey,
and help those who cannot find peace.
We cannot always help them,
but we can learn and attempt to stay
from the hem 
that marks the end of our days,
for every journey has an end.
And when I meet that end,
I will greet Death as an old friend,
for I will have lived life to the fullest,
and in peace I shall rest.