Wind whips through the doors like a
kettle screaming for it's virtue
The pot-black clouds congregate
Cutting off me from you
The storm rains conflagrate
Burning into me icy pain
Alone with the bitter-dark
Bile in my throat again
Choke me out like candle flame
useless in a brightened room
Cancerous cells leach vitality
Leaving only void and vacuum
And essences of mortality
The saddest fact beyond apathy
Is the unavoidable entropy
Which ticks on without sympathy
And we all see the Tick tock tick tock
So blissfully unaware that liver spots
Are sounds of death's grandfather clock
As young flesh wrinkles and dots
Leaving us as we never were before.
Unwanted like last week's moldy fruit
Leaving us on the step of a church's door
But on the subject of ending we stay mute
Is it so wrong to die young and leave a beautiful corpse?
To donate to science and future needs?
Without having first sewn wild oat seeds?
Because when the storm comes and leaves Me without you, me with my needs
It makes me consider morbid leads.