Death

DEATH (IT) Brought to us by living corpses Every second, every minute, everyday, Plants, even share IT’S seasonal way. No answers, come from thanatology We depend completely on thaumatology. Life makes sure, that IT’S denounced Living makes sure, IT happens only once. Sin and sorry, tend to be IT’S kin War seems to justify, why IT’S a win. The Past is the Future, as soon as IT arrives The Future is the Present, waiting to be deprived. On land, in sea, IT diets on us Whether long white hair or pubertal pus. Forsaken by Forever All groups, all prides, all flocks, This Rolex’s worth a million But Longevity, ticks and tocks. Brought to us by “Funerals” Please “Wake” us from IT’S sleep Cause IT gave us no fair warning IT crept, IT hid, IT leaped. By: Arthur Charles Ford,Sr./poet P.O. BOX 4725 PITTSBURGH,PA. 15206 EM:wewuvpoetry@hotmail.com 1-866-234-0297