We stand in line, a dismal sight,
Waiting for our turn to go.
The line stretches beyond our sight,
But we pretend we do not know.
************************
We think we live, we think we breathe,
But we are corpses in disguise.
Our flesh decays, our bones grow weak,
But we ignore the warning signs.
************************
We chase the world, we chase the wind,
We think we have so much to gain.
We hoard the gold, we hoard the fame,
But they are phantoms of our brain.
************************
We cry and mourn, we cry and grieve,
When someone leaves us all alone.
We do not see, we do not know,
That we are also dead and gone.
***********************
It is a cycle, it is a trap,
A curse that none of us can flee.
We might as well accept our fate,
And face the end that waits for thee.
***********************
Let the dead bury their own dead,
And let the living do the same.
For we are all in one big queue,
And death will call us by our name.
About the Creator
Glory Alaba
Seeing that there are many people out there who can’t fully express or understand their emotions, it gives me peace to pen down words that many can relate to.
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Comments (3)
Love the poem, death has its own agenda, dwelling on it is futile, sometimes i wonder if we are already dead and existing within the matrix. Too true.
This is such a great read 👏🏽👏🏽
This piece is deep and worthy of commendation. Your pen game is class . Keep it up dear !!!