Death's Call
Death comes, calling
To the wise and the
foolish,
To the strong and the
weak,
No respecter of any strata.
Death, the wit's end to all
and sundry.
Death comes, calling
The poor and the rich,
Never coming to terms
willingly.
Death is the unifying deed,
The end of all flesh.
The joy of a birth, refreshing.
The pain of death, depressing.
Death, ever coming to claim
Never, ever coming to calm.
Death is ever present
It is never pleasant.
Death the wit's end of all flesh.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
