Greed,
Time it does feed,
Spite,
Cometh not from the light,
Hate,
Never is it late,
Death,
Oh death,
From you springs time,
No more flipping of the dime,
For there is a limit on living,
All of this you are giving,
These atrocities come forth,
From time it does morph,
For why would one be,
Evil to all he can see,
If he has time unending,
Time ever continuing,
Mortals would be good,
If only they could,
Come out from under the lie,
If only death would die.
YOU ARE READING
The Eternal Dispute
PoetryWhen life and death take on form, at last they meet. These are the woven banters of life and death. Come, take a seat, and gaze into The Eternal Dispute...
