“`At last.
Death will come
It will come as a harbinger of pains.
And when it leaves,
You will see footprint
Of both sorrow
And clarity of transient life.
And when it comes,
That day would bleach to dusk,
The soul would calmer the holes,
And the birds would sing in Serene,
They may have to hide your flesh under the cold rocks,
Or else the vultures would kiss them dark-black wild.
MD_Alhassan✍ ft Stylo writes.