The all-encompassing blanket of white engulfs the hearts barely beating
Time and space linger from moving forward, delaying
Silence stretches for miles within the compressed block
Disrupted by the continues steady beats of the clock
Counting down each second before the arrival of death
Some wishing sooner to take their last breath
While others attempt to stall it with will and wealth
All of man's riches, achievements and glory reduced to a fading memory
Only a few-feet bed to call their own, their last treasury
Awaits to be passed down from the dead to the dying
As the armed man walks freely in this room, brushing past those lying
Through the occasional wheezes of the dumb, his voice is heard
Communicating the message of forewarning through the unsaid word
He has much not to be said as he waits in the midst of the dying herd
There's no beauty in the dying days
Only an ugly mess painted clearly on their face
The stench of corps not yet dead
Waiting and awaiting with dread
Dripping down the corners of their mouth, their untold stories
Reminiscing sorrowfully upon their past glories
And filling their final thoughts with regrets of unsolved quarries
I walk for miles and miles unable to exit this tiny room
Struggling to escape the impending doom
Death's silent whispers still echoing in my ears
The stabs of reality bringing to my eyes, tears
Even though my time here remains with uncertain deals
I feel that death has stolen a part of me that most appeals
Sneaking away seconds of life from time to time as he feels
May 24, 2020
May 24, 2020 at 6:23 PM UTC
The all-encompassing blanket of white engulfs the hearts barely beating
Time and space linger from moving forward, delaying
Silence stretches for miles within the compressed block
Disrupted by the continues steady beats of the clock
Counting down each second before the arrival of death
Some wishing sooner to take their last breath
While others attempt to stall it with will and wealth
All of man's riches, achievements and glory reduced to a fading memory
Only a few-feet bed to call their own, their last treasury
Awaits to be passed down from the dead to the dying
As the armed man walks freely in this room, brushing past those lying
Through the occasional wheezes of the dumb, his voice is heard
Communicating the message of forewarning through the unsaid word
He has much not to be said as he waits in the midst of the dying herd
There's no beauty in the dying days
Only an ugly mess painted clearly on their face
The stench of corps not yet dead
Waiting and awaiting with dread
Dripping down the corners of their mouth, their untold stories
Reminiscing sorrowfully upon their past glories
And filling their final thoughts with regrets of unsolved quarries
I walk for miles and miles unable to exit this tiny room
Struggling to escape the impending doom
Death's silent whispers still echoing in my ears
The stabs of reality bringing to my eyes, tears
Even though my time here remains with uncertain deals
I feel that death has stolen a part of me that most appeals
Sneaking away seconds of life from time to time as he feels