Death Is Dead

Instead of silly pretense, coded word and picture show...you should be working out the final sum of games, like 'tic tac toe', to realize the sorrows of your choices.

You circle that dread thing, the predator on prey. Not one could stay you, nor make you look away.

Your laurel crowns you, yet, you haven't even won, nor ever will...for that 'dread thing' will reap you, when your victory is full.

For death sits empty on its throne, nor memory nor mercy of beauty or pain. Death has no pride and cannot fall, but rules you all the same.

Death is dead and cannot tell, just a doll of empty dust, yet men rush in, to gather it...as if it were, somehow, alive.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2017, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Old doll of a boy, google pic