There is such beauty,
Yet it's turned to futility,
By your skeletal hand,
Their end you demand,
Think this if you will,
But a purpose I fulfill,
If there wasn't me,
What beauties would there be,
For as things die,
They realize a thing wry,
That what was was good,
Happy be they would,
How is it that you know,
For we have not lived without the crow,
Perhaps you are right,
But alas I will still fight.
YOU ARE READING
The Eternal Dispute
PoesíaWhen 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...
