In collaboration with: Deveritus
Somewhere someone is dying.
Have we ever thought about that?
In the hustle and bustle,
How much goes past us?
How much do we lose in the process?
I am Death, I am eternal,
I am he who does not sleep.
Be it in the early hours of sun or the hours of night, I reap.
You cling to small fragments of time
as if each second is more important than the last.
How much of your loved ones' time has passed?
This life you call sacred, this life you call great...
And yet when you have an appointment with me
you realize at last that you should sometimes stop and wait?
"I'm too busy for this"
"I'm too busy for that"
In your last hours,
When I am knocking on your door,
Did being busy mean that much to you?
Was racing around really that important?
Did running your fancy company bring you satisfaction?
Or always being away from home?
Were the masked twitches of muscles hinting at a frown
worth the extra zero in your check for the bank?
Were the hours of disappointment
and the sighs of exasperation something to thank?
Were your loved ones so small to you
that they were second to being a slave?
And you had the audacity to say
that it was human affection you would crave?
And now that you see me,
now that I'm standing over your form,
you want me to free you from the dirt, worm?
And all that time,
All those many years you had,
Did you even appreciate it?
Did you count the minutes you had left with your loved ones?
Did you show them how much they mean?
Did you kiss your wife, your husband?
Did you hug your kids?
How many times did you just walk out the door,
Not once even swiftly shouting "I love you"?
And more importantly,
Did you ever just look at them?
Just to memorise their faces?
Did you leave them with something to remember?
Allow me to tell you this story,
since I've memorized it so well.
Allow me to share with you the details of your farewell.
Your children will grow to say they never knew their parent
and that you were always too busy for them.
Your spouse will wonder why things were how they transpired.
You would have done well to show them the world, even at the cost of getting fired.
I am not so kind as your kin,
I am here and your time is through.
I grow tired of having this conversation with people like you.
********************************
Bold-@Deveritus
Italics-@JanaJoubert
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Melpomene
PoetryHighest Rating: #596 in Poetry! Poetry collection of my own poems. Please enjoy! "Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen." -Leonardo da Vinci "A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a s...
