by Scott Steven
One of my fatalistic thoughts expressed in a rhyming meter poem.
By Scott S. Batchelor
Once a blue moon, someone leaves us too soon in life's race
And sadness is still evermore always will in this place,
Till late in the eve, hearts on our sleeve break and bleed.
Our cycle comes 'round when we're deep in the ground under weed.
The dark rivers dealt and fireflies will melt into fall,
Stars slow blink out, the harvest moon's route down the hall.
Candles burnt down into whisper wisps drown - no ones home.
Dry pages break, leaving ash in its wake where I roam.
Clockworks will rust as we all turn to dust, fade away,
For no more are we but a ghost memory, so they'd say.
The children will weep as the shadows soft creep out the door.
Sunsets afire on the last funeral pyre, Evermore.