Human Life
Human life,
Carried out in beauty,
Filled with strife,
From the majority to the minority.
When life ends,
It is merely a corpse turning cold,
Or the heart; when it breaks and bends,
As we grow old.
You can live without life,
While machines keep you breathing,
Emotions sharp as a knife,
Though your end is in the making.
I would prefer to die,
When my heart no longer burns,
For it beating would be a lie,
If my love never earns.
Copyright © Lucas Holbrook | Year Posted 2015
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