Antes De Morir

March 21, 2010
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Circles beneath they eyes grow darker
Roots if the hair gone grey
Feet worn and hands withered
Then skin hangs
Pain runs through the veins
Lines in the face sink deep
Death doesn’t pick and choose some
But rather takes all that remain
Towards the end the body gradually stops
Silence comes over and color rushes out
Heart halts, eyes glaze
Taken naturally or not
There is much left behind
Unknown where you go when you’re gone
Perhaps heaven is above and hell below
And the soul escapes
In the hand of God or the grasp of Satan
There is much more to come
Time is continuous; others proceed

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