Slow

 

Death is slow

Like a sick flower with bleak petals that no longer grow

One by one, the petals begin to fall

Unable to avoid the final death call

 

Death is slow

Like a flow of water seeping into the lungs of a man

Slowly his breath turning into grains of sand

 

And the fate of death does not evoke fear

Rather the suspenseful path to death

That causes one to shed a tear

 

This poem is about: 
Our world

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