Anna Hopper Poet Rhyme

Painting roses on death

Stars from my youth
Are falling like flies
To admit the hard truth
I wish not to die

My journey, it seems
Is trapped at the start
As if, weathered dreams
Just now, found my heart

The soul of a child
Dwells in my shell
Sensation not mild
Peter Pan spell

A brawny force
Akin to rip tide 
Erases my course
I failed, when I tried

Unlimited rolls
Shield my gamble
Health takes a toll
My vessel, in shambles 

My mind remains green
Misplacing past years
Hardships, unseen
Future looks clear

I fear, I’m naive
Painting roses on death
Seems I can’t grieve
I’m “aging”, bereft

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Daniel Turner February 22, 2026 at 12:59 PM When one first comes to grip with their own mortality, it can be a very "sobering" experience. You take a moment and look back and begin to realize you have less days ahead than you have behind, and some dreams are just that, "dreams". Why does life have to be so short? Embrace it! Live each day to its fullest. Nice write, Anna I can relate.