It's Tragic

I watch this fountain,
spray a beautiful mist,
containing the color,
of absolute bliss.

I lay back,
and close my eyes.
I soon feel,
my wrist is dried.

The mist is gone,
and so is the bliss.
All of their beauty,
I cannot miss,
for I will soon,
make my plea,
and then I will tell,
if I'm worthy.
To Heaven or Hell,
I despise to know,
Where it will be,
That I will go.