***
Death is merely just another part,
A part of the world's existence,
The nemesis of life itself, a darker face,
Home of darkness and oblivion,
To what you owe those lifeless vessels,
Of every day thousands are killed,
A body that's void of soul and life,
Only floating in a pond of its own blood,
Its soul restless, until buried,
Buried deep in the Earth's core,
And when you do bury them,
Honour the dead with your flowers,
For the dead feeds the flowers,
With their rotting flesh and bones,
Off of the little life that's left of them.
To sacrifice and give the world a new life,
Flowers, the epitome of many meanings.
***
"Cycle of life, to give and take..."
YOU ARE READING
A World of Poems
Poetry"The dead that weaves in the spindle, A bundle of silk - woven and spun, Collected and collected, Until it's a huge massacre of stars." -Excerpt This is an original made poetry collection about life and are written in many forms of genre like love...
