The End of Life

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  • Death

    The End of Life

    He looks up the sky,
    It’s dark, no stars, not even a cloud.

    Turns his head, looks down at the stunted ground,
    No flowers, not even grass.

    He looks around in panic.

    There is no one.
    Not even a spirit.

    He lies down, crosses his fingers.

    This is the end of life.

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    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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    immortallove82’s Poems (15)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    unreal heaven 0
    Virgin Soul 2
    The Bud 2
    The End of Life 0
    Somebody, Someone, and someone else 1
    Regenerate 1
    Despondent 3
    the stone 0
    when we say goodbye 1
    The last leaf 0
    The candle 0
    sharing 0
    bitterness 0
    unexpected 0
    unexpected 0