For Whom the Bell Tolls
When Death comes knocking at your door
Rail,resist or recoil at her call
The inevitable and rarely welcome visitor
To Her succumb must we all
To Her cold and chilling embrace
When with Her we come face to face
Cold comfort in being clasped
To Her icy bosom at last.
Larger than life is this devil,
No hail fellow well met
Before Her will we all shrivel
As She rolls Her dice ,Her net,
Until up comes our number
When we must succumb to Her
With Her shears She readily clips
And our life threads She swiftly snips
Sardonic yet unsatisfied with Her store
She hies off with Her earthly winnings
Insatiably in search of ever more
Desperate to end another innings
Knowing only full well
That Her cup will never be at full swell
Nor capture the essence
Of any mortal presence.
Copyright © Denis Bruce | Year Posted 2016
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