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Death's Job

Poetry By: Ashley I Read
Poetry


This one can be considered kinf of grim.


Submitted:Oct 13, 2011    Reads: 45    Comments: 14    Likes: 5   


I know he is here, I can feel his breath

He's come for me and his name is Death

His sleek, fleshless hands are on my shoulder

The presence of Death is growing bolder.

Now he is here I live in constant fear

As I approach my end, I hear him jeer.

I can see a light that is coming nearer

His plans for me have now become clearer

He will not cease until his job is done

But does he have to have so much fun?

He holds up his scythe and adjusts his hood

And after all he is doing some good

His last words to me after his goodbyes

Were "so long kid, but everyone dies"





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