I wrongly assumed that death was loud,
That I would hear its stomp and be aware,
That I could hear its monstrous growl;
Then perhaps I could prepare.
But oh- death is such a snake,
It sneaks behind the life it takes;
In quiet death is still for fear to be heard.
It mimics sounds of freedom, and in we are lured.
YOU ARE READING
The poetry book of a wretched sinner
Poetrypoems of places, people, feelings, and emotions. the fluctuating thoughts of someone with hope apart from this life. Here we have the hope, guilt, and the shortcomings of a sinner saved by grace. "I was found in darkness; now clothed by light. My...
