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Poetry By: CZR

One day, I just started pondering about life and death. Unfortunately, I wrote my thoughts down on this poem. Enjoy...

Submitted:Oct 19, 2013    Reads: 21    Comments: 2    Likes: 2   

Why do people die young?

Perhaps, they have sinned In the Past,

Malefactors in their previous existence.

Or Perhaps, they will commit atrocities

In the distant unforeseeable future,

Victimising the community,

Becoming a Negative externality.

Perhaps, this is our reality.

It's the gardener's job after all;

You cut the weeds down

Before they have the chance to sprout

With an old worn-down scythe

So that the flowers may bloom.

But Who are we to tell the infinite permutations of Fate?

The never-ending river that flows eternally

Into the abyss of the greater unknown.

We are simply swept away,

Reduced to leaves upon its currents.

It is simply the absurdity of our reality,

Standing always at the edge of the drop.

It would probably have made no difference,

I heard a groan from up high-

Aged and hoarse, echoing from the slippery slopes;

Why do people die old?


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