Faces of death
………Death has touched all around me, didn’t keep my promise not to give it more fuel for its fire, it shows no signs it will tire, I believe Life makes its bed, laces it’s boots and calls it sire, it awakes in the morning with skeletons as its choir, and when the wind blows it whistles pass sounding like a flute only death could acquire, every face is its own, so it needs no mask like Michael Myers.
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Author:
EvenwheniLie (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 24th, 2025 00:02
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 19
Offline)
Comments1
Loved this poem and its contrast with life and death. Great usage of rhyme and images. I think that death has the edge in this race in that entropy always wins.
Thanks..
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