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Till Dust We Become

Once wither winds fell our brittle towers

and come the dread horsemen devoid of mirth,

trampling upon ill-fated flowers;

Misery shall dwell upon the cold earth.

When grim are the angels fallen from grace,

to ashes they grind our earthly treasures;

If all hope should die without a trace,

Could we still remember life’s pleasures?

Until the aged star bows lowly to weep,

cruel cold severs the last living breath,

and sinks the last child, down deep into sleep,

we speak not of this lonely planet’s death.

Until the bell gongs, for the time has come

when bone turns to stone and dust we become.

Recommend0 Simily SnapsPublished in Poetry, Sci Fi