Cruel CompanionsA Poem by MiaLife runs its hand Down its colorless creation Weaving its wrinkled timelines And taunting its tribulation.
Beckons the wiser to dwindle When the soul grows cold A wretched, rhythmic pattern Of a man grown too old.
Time runs its hand Down its weary creation Leaving behind no lifeline For loss and lamentation.
Beckons the stronger to stumble When the heart grows cold A wretched, rhythmic pattern Of a woman grown old.
So youth accept This inevitable consequence That suffering comes soon For Life and Time are cruel companions
And they are coming for you. © 2015 MiaReviews
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11 Reviews Added on June 3, 2015 Last Updated on June 4, 2015 AuthorMiaMorrilton, ARAboutI'm 18 years old, so I'm definitely still learning, but writing has always been a big outlet for me. Any critiques are much appreciated! more..Writing
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