O death! You're like poetry
And I've been promised by a poem, that it shall be mine

As the pulse (of life) recedes, the pain & suffering go to (an eternal) sleep
And a yellowish (young) moon starts to rise and reach its zenith
The day is yet to sink in water, as the night waits near the shore
It will not be dark, it will not be bright
it's neither midnight nor high noon
And as the body loses material, the free soul starts to breathe

I've been promised by a poem, that it shall be mine..
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