Death

Black ink poured upon a dying rose

It slowly creeps to the bottom of the stem

Covering the red petals with darkness

This is Death’s one mostly prized gem

 

A pointed finger ripped of flesh to the bone

Is all Death needs to send his message across

Changing one’s bad ways is a hard thing to do

But if left undone your eyes will lose their gloss

 

So keep in mind Death’s grim shadow

Is always following your set path

And know that it is inevitable

To run from Death’s silent wrath