The End of Time
My father’s hands
Toiled in time
Red lines and scars
Left a story to be told
A life of sorrow
Or perhaps of glory
Only the man
Can tell the story
But he is gone now
And I can’t read his palms
He lies in rest
Or so they say
A body that carried the soul
Is but an empty shell
To be put to rest
Six feet under
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
In that grave
We do trust
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.
