the end of life
By Gunslinger
There's something about the powder smoke-Drifting on the air.The sweeter smell of fresh shed blood-The stink of flesh and hair...The silence broken by the cries-Of men at point of death...Mixed together seem to formThe Reaper's fetid breath.Death, the final enemy? Or, Death, familiar friend?It matters not your point of view-For Death is still the end.The end? So I've been told by some-I somehow doubt that's true.I fear there waits a reckoning-For men like me and you.I somehow doubt it wipes the slate-With crime and sin so rife,But come what may, it seems that Death...Is still the end of life. Written September 25th, 2001 © on Sep 25 2001 11:20 AM PST, John R. Yaws 0 • 10
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"There's something about the powder smoke-Drifting on the air.The sweeter smell of fresh shed blood-The stink of flesh and hair...The silence broken by the cries-Of men at point of death...Mixed together seem to formThe Reaper's fetid breath.Death, the final enemy? Or, Death, familiar friend?It matters not your point of view-For Death is still the end.The end? So I've been told by some-I somehow doubt that's true.I fear there waits a reckoning-For men like me and you.I somehow doubt it wipes the slate-With crime and sin so rife,But come what may, it seems that Death...Is still the end of life...."