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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required As the known hunter shut up the lion with his bullets. The jungle lamented over another fallen king. The other animals weep as the undertakers lift the King's casket to its apartment six feet down. Tears mixed with sweat as other animals cried and following the casket with the same uniform. It was like the sun shone darkness, and ocean hovering blood All I could hear is the known hunter saying. Mortals carrying a mortal, dead men weeping for a dead man. Who is living? The dead or the living. This same hunter will lead you home. This same hunter will end your worries and predicament. Lives already dead, while their blood yet flow. Some had already stop breathing before their heart stop its bit. Many are just a drum for the sun, while others till their land in a cool box. But none of them will ever escape the known hunter. They waste their time proving hierarchy and the difference they posses. They even compare themselves with one another. But just like the lion, the known hunter will settle their differences. The mighty has fallen, they'll say when the known hunter strike. Maybe they have forgotten, the known hunter is the reason the little and small shall fall. So I ask again, who exactly is living? The living or the dead. When the dead had absolutely no worries, and the living is simply surviving. When time is the only difference between each strike of the known hunter had made and will make. Please can you tell me, who is living? Truekenyan writes..
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