Death, A poem by Bawuah
He will come for us, one way or the other.
Whether we chose to live our best lives or not,
He’s inevitable; he will come, whether we had been
Procrastinating throughout our whole lives. It will end
The dust will settle,the winds will blow; and with it,
Our fallen ashes. We will all pass, but will we be
Forgotten? Most of us will, when we die, is there some
Other journey we continue? Or is this whole thing, this
Whole thing just a facade. And death being nothing but
An ever dark and bleak experience. Do we panic?
Do we crash? Or bust? I remember countless days I
Stayed up in deep recession constantly being reminded
By one of this generation’s promising artist,
Xxxtentacion that, the saddest thing about betrayal
Is that, it never comes from enemies, no,
It comes from those we trust the most.
Am I depressed? Do I use these choices of my own
Diction to help weave through the darkness within?
We’ll never know.