The wind was stirring
I saw it glowing
Just like a rainy cloud
It was thundering loud
It came by and asked
Your soul has been marked
Would you like to go
Or shall I make you bow?
Should I agree?
To set my soul free
Closing my eyes
I would bid the goodbyes
The death has arrived
My life won't be revived
YOU ARE READING
DEATH
PoetryOne could only know what death means when he gets what it means to live. Death is nowhere horrifying, it's as bright as the night.
