Numbered Days
Bane of every human,
The rich and poor alike,
It seizes and spares none,
It summons out our souls,
The living weep and mourn.
Bane of every human,
Our bodies decompose,
We go back to the earth,
From whence we were moulded,
Sadness displaces mirth.
Bane of every human,
Some have seen it coming,
They saw celestial beings,
Approach them for a flight,
Mundane can’t by this means.
Bane of every human,
Each day draws us closer,
With much to accomplish,
We fall, we rise, we run,
Not much time to relish.
April 12, 2022.
Death
Form M - Monchielle - New Poetry Contest
Constance La France
Copyright © Thompson Emate | Year Posted 2022
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