deepundergroundpoetry.com
Traveling Death
Decay, touches us, with his cold fingertips,
So matter-of-fact, and nonchalant,
We hear the whispers, from his dead lips,
As we live, we defy, gallant, and persistent.
To live, is to be in defiance of decay,
To defy decay, is to defy the ever-present void,
Just out of reach of us, travelling the galaxy's seaway.
So matter-of-fact, and nonchalant,
We hear the whispers, from his dead lips,
As we live, we defy, gallant, and persistent.
To live, is to be in defiance of decay,
To defy decay, is to defy the ever-present void,
Just out of reach of us, travelling the galaxy's seaway.
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