Morbid Acceptance.

By
There are no words.
No combination of vowels and consonants,
That can even begin to describe,
The feeling that is felt,
When something is so cold that it burns.
An occurrence that is so frequent,
People steadily grow exhausted,
But as we go to sleep,
We will turn out the light,
Because the light has been turned out on us.
In the dark, we will be afraid,
We are all afraid of the unknown,
The future being like the dark,
Where we cannot shine bright enough.
If we only took the time to notice,
Our veins pulse with the same rhythmic motions.
We are not all so different,
In a different perspective,
In a different light,
We all die alone.





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dontmendtheend said...
Sept. 17, 2008 at 2:57 am
i like the end, some of it sounds like your trying to force the message, "the future being like the dark" telling- not showing, show more then tell
 
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