07.23.08
Survivor
Sitting patiently at the little wooden desk
Ignoring the wobbly legs
The scribe scratches noiselessly over the page
Copying down the black past.
The day, creeping further back into the past
Relives the torment of time
As the memories flow from his battered quill pen
And desperately cling to the page.
The parchment is curling and brown at its edge
Yellowing as the years pass
But still he writes faithfully over its length
Doing the duty of Death.
keshuvko said,
July 24, 2008 at 6:51 am
Nice one.
Yes, death is the polar truth and everybody does the duty of death– knowingly or unknowingly.