Death is but a promise kept,
Of abyssal cold and blank freedom,
No stars, divine, nor man would wept,
As we sigh life back to Earth's kingdom.
The self is but a bundle of electricity,
When we sleep, our senses are but a blank slate,
Here we dream, daintily skipping across eternity,
But as the cold embraces, we will be left like some empty crate.
Fear not for death is immortal slumber,
Silence would wrap around your senses like some warm blanket,
No pain, no nothing as the light goes thicker,
As your body lay across the maggots' net.
Death is nothing but a promise,
True peace and boundless freedom's premise.
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Moon Child | Ongoing
Poetry"Home isn't always four walls. Sometimes it's one warm embrace And two people's heartbeats as one. " - Moon Child (StarHues) Collection of poems mostly tackling about falling in love with someone out of your reach. Musings about the pain of unrequit...
