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The Poets of Death

Poetry By: WithaBang

When you describe death, you get poetry from Death himself.

Submitted:Feb 19, 2012    Reads: 11    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   

As if the gun shot were peaceful,

it was gone.

The clock stopped ticking and I finally realized that this was my final moment. My final hour. It was my prime, but it had to be ripped from me, had it? Was this just fate's cruel hand trying to slip me away from the person I once loved?

Is this fate telling me that it was just over?

No, it isn't good enough. It isn't good enough.

Fate wouldn't just rip me from life, would it? It wouldn't just let me go without a good bye?

How could I?

How could he?

The clock stopped ticking as it was my final second.


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