Death

Fret not, it heard you, soon you can take your rest-
Here it comes...dressed in black..hat below it's eyes.
Arising from it's depth in a cloud of cold expectation.
The name in it's hand the beginning of someone's grief-
Perhaps someone is waiting, it could be their relief.
Each cold step it takes brings it closer to it's prize.

It heard your moans, groans, your pain called it forth-
Won't be long now, it knows you've had enough.
Distant sound of the train says time is almost up.
Whistle. Tracks. Louder and louder, time has finally come-
For Death to take you back-where you once came from.
There it goes..dressed in black...hat below it's eyes.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2011

Poem

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Francis Avatar
September 25, 2011 at 4:18 AM
this is great cos it truly describe death in all ramification.
Sherman Avatar
September 27, 2011 at 12:13 AM
Thank you.
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