Its one of my older ones, a bit clumsy but I like it.
But the old one sees the approaching sorrow.
As the young boy tastes the nectar of love.
The old man bows his head, he's at the end of the show.
When I come for the old man he knows it is just so.
Come my old friend, its time to go.
Yet when I turn to the youth he cries and curses my name.
Dry your tears boy, I'm Death and this is my game.
A woman lets happily her son on her knee ride.
Laugh now, soon enough I will call him to my side.
No mather if you are a might king or poor slave.
One day I'll carry you all as equals to a lonely grave.
Poetry by Lord DarkRaven
Read 1034 times
Written on 2005-05-26 at 19:55
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The Way of Death.
The youth thinks not of tomorrow.But the old one sees the approaching sorrow.
As the young boy tastes the nectar of love.
The old man bows his head, he's at the end of the show.
When I come for the old man he knows it is just so.
Come my old friend, its time to go.
Yet when I turn to the youth he cries and curses my name.
Dry your tears boy, I'm Death and this is my game.
A woman lets happily her son on her knee ride.
Laugh now, soon enough I will call him to my side.
No mather if you are a might king or poor slave.
One day I'll carry you all as equals to a lonely grave.
Poetry by Lord DarkRaven
Read 1034 times
Written on 2005-05-26 at 19:55
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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