Death
One question
Floating freely
Through thoughts scrambled, tousled, archived
Like the thud against the wall
Nearly silent.
But always there. Whispering.
“Your time, it’s getting closer to the end.:
Most days it’s ignored.
Most days are filled
With errands, work, play, sleep
I don’t think about you.
When I least expect it, you sneak, you creep
And someday you’ll spring.
You will catch me in your net.
Till then I forget or I will pretend to forget
That your truth exists
That you will win in the end.
You always win in the end.
Copyright 2014 T.L. Burton
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
If you or someone you know is struggling, you are not alone.
988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline — call or text 988, 24/7. Crisis Text Line — text HELLO to 741741.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
Comments are closed for this poem.