PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

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.