There is a man you are not familiar with,
His name is Death,
As he collects the soul of every passing human,
A locket hangs from his neck,
The locket ticks,
The locket rings at noon,
This locket is in the centre of every human body,
It ticks,
And it rings at noon,
Think of someone special,
Their locket may be ticking faster or slower than yours,
Although its core value remains the same,
When the locket stops,
He will come to collect you.
YOU ARE READING
Dejected
PoetryShe was like the leaves in Autumn, Falling with the wind, She did not fall out of curiosity, She did not fall happily, She fell with dejection.
