It comes for us all.
Dark and cold.
Does it bring more?
I do not know.
It comes for us all.
Young and old.
Does it know more?
It will not show.
What lies in that abyss,
of oblivion?
Is there life?
Is that the end?
Will we be led,
to heaven?
To torment?
Or nothingness?
It comes for us all.
We don’t know when.
Leaving questions,
without answers.
It comes for us all.
So many ways.
Violence. Accident’s.
Cancer’s.
More ways,
than I can count.
This life is full,
of uncertainty.
But how will it,
come for me?
The answer,
I am scared to see.
Poetry
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I love how this poem was clearly about death, but you didn’t say the actual word once. You let the reader’s own experiences and intuition guide them.
Recently I found that I’ve been terrified of me or my loved ones dying. Maybe I’m just coming to terms with how temporary we all are, how it can all be over in an instance. It’s not a comforting thought.
Thank you for the feedback. Not mentioning death itself was a goal for the poem so I’m glad it was appreciated. Best wishes to you!
Thank you for the feedback. Not mentioning death itself was a goal for the poem so I’m glad it was appreciated. Best wishes to you!