Dust

Death rises up and grabs those unaware
it yanks them away while onlookers stare.
While the world goes on, and people still smile,
a little puff of flame has met the death of air.

As stars are in the sky, and the full moon in the night,
death is always here, and that makes it all right.
Death is a blessing. To get out of this world,
corrupted, evil world, simply floating up in the night.

To meet our Maker in all His majesty,
His throne of solid gold and heaven of gallantry,
but us humans still look at death
and fear it, as the deer fears the wolf.

We all go away in the end, our entire life work blowing away like dust,
some are in the history book, but we can't see past our lust.

There's a girl who would give up anything for her man,
life, job, money, and body. But he up and ran
and she was left alone, with nothing,
while he went out to find another fan.

I sit here and write, while shadows move back and forth,
I'm tired of the immaturity, I'm tired of being a whore.
I will sit tight and take death as it comes,
and you will forget this poem, as you will soon be no more.