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Writer's pictureLeanore

The Wilting Flower


In the depths of night, I lie awake

Contemplating life and its cruel fate

For death is but a shadow, always near

A looming presence that I cannot fear


The blackness of the raven's wing

Is the harbinger of the end of everything

Its cawing call echoes through the air

As if to remind me that death is always there


The ticking clock, a steady beat

A reminder that my time is fleeting

And with each passing moment, I draw closer

To the end, to the great unknown exposure


The wilting flower, once so bright

Now fades away into the endless night

It's petals falling, one by one

A symbol of life, of all that's done


And yet, I find a strange comfort

In the thought that one day, all will be curt

That death will claim me, as it must

And turn me to dust, to ashes, to rust


For in that final moment, I'll be free

From the burdens of life, from all misery

And so, I embrace the dark embrace

Knowing that death is but a part of the human race.

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