Born with a clock embedded in our chests,
Born with a heart encased by osseous matter.
To live in a world where one would, should, feel enmeshed,
Counting the years as if they were hours.
Dreadful Hours.
Breathing every second,
To unsuspectingly become breathless in a matter of seconds,
to then be lifeless in less than 10 seconds.
and then The *tick tock* of your clock has ceased,
and when that little heart of yours no longer beats.
Under sheets, will your body lay,
and In minutes your body begins to decay.
Your spirit man left to float around for hours and hours.
Dreadful Hours.
Your loved ones weep, wishing it was their clock that stopped instead,
but instead, they must live on for the years to come,
the months to pass,
the rest of days,
the seconds, the minutes, the hours.
Dreadful Hours.
YOU ARE READING
Dreadful Hours, Decaying Flowers.
PuisiNegativity is Reality and Tragedy is Inevitable. This Book encompasses a collection of poems I have written. Each rhythmic masterpiece contains a story about life. Stories that entails the sorrowful and joyful meaning of life . To make these poem...
