Life, that diligent poet, day by day
Scrawls his work upon us
In blood and tears and sweat and spit
Until our time is measured in years
And we are covered in lines that he has writ.
Death, contrary, is in no hurry
To share her darker verse,
Saving the craft of her rhyme
For a quieter time
When we are more likely to enjoy it.
- R. Cody -
6 comments:
Never a happy line? Fun metaphor.
Oh this is brilliant. Wow!
Laugh lines, darkangel!
Thanks, Sherry!
This poem and many more are included in my collection, This is Not My Heart, available at Lulu and Amazon, just check out the links on the right side of my blog page.
Captivating and true
Hello.
My first time here from The Poetry Pantry.
Interesting thoughts indeed.
Thanks for sharing.
Thief In The Night
Thanks for reading all!
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