The future, its viewless things,
That undiscovered mystery. Will
We feel death’s lifeless wings.
No one wants these ending things,
Hiding behind curtained windows
To keep the world from seeing dying
Eyes.
Bathed in the dew of morn, the snowy
Landscape spreads. This is the world in
Which we are born, the world which will
Be gone when we are dead.
We become sick of wasted bodies, the
Mortal strife, the pain of taking a breath.
Is sorrow the course of your life as your,
Soul combats with death.
We pray for calmness before our wilted
Spirits must go. Life is beginning to be all
Too clear, and soon we will all be gone
From here.
©elizabethannjohnsonmurphree.honeysucklememories
The Last Chapter 
Reblogged this on Becoming is Superior to Being and commented:
There are days like this. — kenne
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Thank you Ken. E.
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