Death

She comes and goes without trace;

No mortal man can keep her pace.

All turn in fear, becoming running race,

When She comes to us, face to face.

Nevertheless, She comes to all.

Too long have we come to fears;

Too long have we shed our tears.

When She comes, and when She nears,

All fall to silence, no one cheers.

Nevertheless, we are Her thrall.

To resist her game, a charade.

Have not the foundations been laid?

When we come to battle and raid,

All will fail, and memory fade.

Nevertheless, we’re doomed to fall.

Come now to lands of rushing gold;

To fields of white and bitter cold.

To meet and greet, fathers of old;

To feast on foods that never mold.

Nevertheless, await Her call.

Reviews

[Vatsal Rohilla (account..]

A good poem, Caleb, and the format is superb, excellent rhyme scheme and good repetition. Your internal rhyming at some places is another pro of your poem. Alliteration, of course, is nice.

Now, let us talk of the theme. Death has been personified. You have talked of death as someone whom everybody fears and tries to run away, but she comes to all- it is the truth. The expression of the fact that all have to bow before death- though it is directly mentioned anywhere in your poem- is quite good too. And, calling death's game a charade is nice too. Death is all around us, and all men are destined to life, death extorts our body away from us, but our soul continues to live. A very good, painful, but true poem of yours. Keep writing.

[Caleb]

Thank you for the feedback; it's always nice be reassured of my writing. To be honest though, I want to rewrite this. The meter is a little off and I don't like how choppy the flow is, but until laziness has loosened her grip, I must await until that day.

[Vatsal Rohilla (account shifted)]

You wish to rewrite it! You can, if you like, but I assure you this is a good piece.

[Caleb]

I might just keep it as a reminder of one of my first poems I wrote