Death can be classified as many things, but to me it is like a thief
Robbing us of our love ones and leaving us with a mountain of grief
It crept into our security and stole our precious treasure
While sitting down all laid back and watching us with sick pleasure
But no one can blame death for doing it's job though
Because that is just the cycle of life and how it flow
From birth we were all given a number
One that Death would identify us with so he can come for us and put us in an eternal slumber
Some would go as far as saying that it is an expiry date
A number that is set in stone by fate
So really it is not Death you should hate
Because Death is a professional thief on the wait
Watching steadily while he debates
Because we all have an expiration date
Set in stone by fate
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts of the Hopeful & Broken Ones
PoetryThoughts of the hopeful and broken ones can be deadly Knowing not what we are thinking Like quick sand the pain and the ache have us sinking Deep down in a dark part of our mind But a smile like ours makes them have nothing to find
