PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Come and take this trip with me I promise it'll be brief, the first stop is your funeral; I promise, it'll be grief,

from all your friends and loved ones yes they all will shed a tear, and wishing you were back with them but you'll be dead for years.

The undertaker did his job; you're lookin oh so great, as if you're fast asleep but see the graveyard knows no fate,
just empty promises and broken dreams that weren't saved, you know just where we're goin don't you? Yes we're in your grave.

You smell like the embalming fluid racing through your corpse, your blood went down the drain like it was H2O of course,
real talk, for all eternity you're sort of predisposed, to live on as a memory, your body decomposed.

Don't think that this is just for you; it's meant for all of us, returning to the earth from which we came; we all are dust,
who're living lives just waiting for the moment when it stops, just think, around the world that ev'ry time a minute drops,

another man or woman's lifeline ceases to exist, it's all a great big circle that's not easy to resist,
we all are born to die and as we live we all gon try, to go outrun The Reaper; in the end we all expire.

The best that we can hope for is a visit, maybe two, from some forgotten relative that lives on as they do,
til then there's no escaping; like there's water in a wave, nobody lives forever guaranteed; you're in your grave.

©2014
 The Cunning Linguist