Time

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic


It comes for us all

Submitted: February 25, 2018

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Submitted: February 25, 2018

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Black hair fades and turns to gray,

Old bones creak like a hardwood floor.

Sickness you can no longer keep at bay,

Emerald eyes lose their shine and their luster.

 

Eyesight begins to flicker and fade away,

Thoughts cloudy like an overcast autumn day.

Energy is gone, you don’t want to play,

When you see me, your heart doesn’t palpitate.

 

Repeating like a broken record, you can’t hear me,

Speaking softly, vocal cords are atrophied.

Can’t seem to walk, like an amputee,

Once steady hands ,only shake these days.

 

Crows dig their claws right into your face,

Smooth skin full of grooves, like an eroded rock.

Lived this long, just by God’s grace,

The low click of a clock is glowing louder.

 

White sterile walls are your home now,

It’s not really life, just postponed death.

Shot of morphine in the arm, as much as allowed,

You’re not really breathing, it’s the machine now.

 

Your telomeres are stretched way too thin,

Cells ran out ink, they will not copy.

It’s not really life, just postponed death,

The low click of a clock is growing louder.

 


© Copyright 2019 Melancholic Wisdom. All rights reserved.

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