Death.
The ever imminent adventure.
One of the very few indiscriminate forces on earth.
Heedless of the nature of the person, showing no disdain or awe,
Death comes,
Whether it be to the plebeian nonentity, or to the wealthy miser.
We are all fugitives of death, trying to become emancipated,
But failing in the end.
Death holds no qualms, and takes every one of us in the end.
Yet, even though every person who ever reads this odd attempt at
Poetry will die along with countless others of our time,
Life will go on.
No matter how many of us become whispers riding the wind,
Life will go on.
Despite all our vain attempts at surviving on earth for eternity,
We will die,
But life will go on.
And with life there is hope,
The companion who is with us at our darkest hour,
The one who gives us our dreams,
And helps us through the night.
Hope is the unison of voices shouting into an inky void of
Despair, “We will not give up without a fight.”
Through it all hope is there to guide us,
So, though I once started with death,
The rightful beginning and end for all eternity is hope.
Now I will end this composition,
And remind you,
There is
Always
Hope.
