Nov 2013
Life
Ends with
Decaying flesh,
Of a corpse, so fresh;
Fell right outside of the door,
Gliding,
Diving,
Crashing swiftly to the floor,
Nothing left, at least not of worth,
Save a far-off, long-ago memory of a
Bright
Colored
Youth, and now this rotting, fruitless corpse,
Which will give life to its new, youthful brothers,
But only after Death's season has passed us all by.
A sacrifice,
Bitterly made,
Every year,
Silently paid;
You don't notice it when you mindlessly walk over all their small bodies, ground beneath your foot.
Ends with
Decaying flesh,
Of a corpse, so fresh;
Fell right outside of the door,
Gliding,
Diving,
Crashing swiftly to the floor,
Nothing left, at least not of worth,
Save a far-off, long-ago memory of a
Bright
Colored
Youth, and now this rotting, fruitless corpse,
Which will give life to its new, youthful brothers,
But only after Death's season has passed us all by.
A sacrifice,
Bitterly made,
Every year,
Silently paid;
You don't notice it when you mindlessly walk over all their small bodies, ground beneath your foot.
In case I don't have something new, ready to share in 5 days, I want to celebrate my 1 year anniversary on Hello Poetry and more importantly, writing my very own material. So this [dark-ish] poem goes out to all of you wonderfully supportive readers. Without the support, I would have stopped writing before I ever began. Thanks so much!
