DEATH


With weary limbs I reach lifes final destination.
A man cloaked in garbs of black welcomes me,
he hath no face yet I sense I have known him a time before.
his pallor skin feels as though winter bore him,
yet it oddly warms my broken soul.
Without question or doubt,I follow him to a land of no tomorrow,
Will pain soon become my comfort and saddness my utopia?
or will this flesh that dresses my bones burn away like wax from a candle?
Blood that once ran as warm as milk from a bosom , now stands frozen within deaths final grip.

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