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Deathly Tomes.
What better inspiration, than the thrill of death,
To stare into the face of death, is to find one's true self, bereft.
A stripping of pretense and lies, a cleansing fire, a clarifying light.
A rush of thoughts, of memories past, a yearning for what's yet to last.
The words rush forth, a river wild, with meaning deep, profound, and styled.
A philosophy, born in despair, lives on beyond, a legacy to share.
What better place for inspiration, than the edge of eternity's station?
The end of the line, a final stop,
Where time's long march is brought to a halt.
A moment of clarity and calm, a chance to reflect, no need to squirm.
The mind is still, the thoughts are clear,
The words flow forth, no room for fear.
The end draws near, but life goes on,
As the writer steeps their paintbrush,
Into the colored palette pool,
of the infinity of these final moments.
© MyrninAsterSnow
To stare into the face of death, is to find one's true self, bereft.
A stripping of pretense and lies, a cleansing fire, a clarifying light.
A rush of thoughts, of memories past, a yearning for what's yet to last.
The words rush forth, a river wild, with meaning deep, profound, and styled.
A philosophy, born in despair, lives on beyond, a legacy to share.
What better place for inspiration, than the edge of eternity's station?
The end of the line, a final stop,
Where time's long march is brought to a halt.
A moment of clarity and calm, a chance to reflect, no need to squirm.
The mind is still, the thoughts are clear,
The words flow forth, no room for fear.
The end draws near, but life goes on,
As the writer steeps their paintbrush,
Into the colored palette pool,
of the infinity of these final moments.
© MyrninAsterSnow
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