A man sits quiet on his usual chair
His hands hold his heavy head high
And grasps on tight to sweet despair
Smooth tender like his lovers thigh
Integrity does with madness comply
Compliance to weigh down some more
His head that does on hands relay
Reliance sly does the innocent lure
With every step to fall and break
Death has her own dearest notes
Scattered upon an ashen lake
She plays them with life’s melody
At times mature and timely
At others wild and out of beat
Unfair he declares the game of death
And dies with a satisfied last breath
Story Of The Footloose 
Beautiful-yes, it will come.
and we’ll be ashes and dust. Thank you.
Wow… leaves me speechless. Brilliant.
Death tends to do that. Thank you.
Beautiful expressed. There is something about death when you have no fear of it that can really touch your heart. This poem did just that, touched my heart.
It was from the heart… That it touched yours helps me not lose faith in language…
That is a lovely thing to read thank you so much for saying..Im so glad…never lose hope Prashant! 🙂
Kind words keep it alive.
Well then I will be sure to always share kind words with you! and it will live on forever! 🙂
I am smiling silly. Thank you Maureen. 😀
Aww Yay! I love that! thank you for telling me! 😀 Now so am I! 😀