The dance that is Life and Death;
A swaying tempo to an unfiltered beat.
Like painting with the wrong tools,
The beg for fairness; a cheat.
And yet one can not exist,
With or without the other.
Such like an infant possesses
A father and it's mother.
As Life inhales into a world,
Death does an opposite exhale,
And though flowers may bloom,
Soon, the petals dull and pale.
An in lies the circle of this,
The rhythm dares to repeat.
For once Death takes another;
Life finds a new heartbeat.
YOU ARE READING
Darkest Days
PoetryThis is just a series of poems I've wrote. Some are rhyming, some are free-expression, and etc. Hope you enjoy.
