Sunday 12 October 2008

Next stop : the grave


Bitter and old and waiting for death,
venomous bile spews from your breath.
Not content with the time you have left,
a life without triumph, unfilled and bereft.

Seething abhorrence and total distaste,
a futile existence, an absolute waste.
Unrealised dreams, a yesterdays man,
jealous of those who will and still can.

Next stop the grave, the end of your toil,
spitefulness buried, 'neath the cold soil.
Bitter and old and waiting for death,
no tears were shed as you took your last breath.

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