Death Is Immortal

Death Is Immortal short poem

Uploaded by Hildburg Mpuka


hide me in these walls…
shield me even,
try your best to cloak me from it..

but it won’t work.

death is coming.
death is coming at a pace we do not know…whether slowly or quickly it will reach its destination. Picking them up one by one..

you can try to keep me hidden away…just so that the devil doesn’t try to fasten its pace but sadly it might be wondering right inside these walls…following me…right behind me..

in this world we are merely visitors…death is the pathway to where you belong…instead of living to avoid death…live like a tourist in a foreign land..smile more…laugh more…embrace every moment..

because in this life nothing is certain, in fact, the only thing certain is DEATH…

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

Be the First to Comment & Review poem!

Notify of
avatar
wpDiscuz

Death In Exile

Death In Exile short poem

He had pulled in many springs but failed to find a heaven. Asked not to look away. In absences he tried to enter the wounds again. An aboriginal pain flies over my shoulder. A spiritual failure of mankind? Counting unctuously

Death Of A Godman

Death Of A Godman short poem

I have agreed to cede an unwritten moon in a killing frenzy, for a chequered spirituality. Now visitation will start ravishing the light at dawn. The grievers will assemble for a final scoop of dust. Forgive my star, for a

Death And Vision

Death And Vision short poem

The doubters will cross the coals after the raid. Apology will not be in attendance. Sitting on the throne of cold blooded assassination, do you think justice demands the revenge? Whom you are killing, the body or the spirit? Heads

Life And Death

Life And Death short poem

O how I desire, the deluge {a severe flood} to scrub Aside all the black-hearted, and the tender-hearted would be full with warmth, so they won’t harden, but they will fall for the word hasn’t marked them, they will forget

Death At My Threshold

Death At My Threshold prose poem

“What is it that makes you flabbergasted, my dear mortal? This isn’t for the first time you’ve been throttled by the fear of demise” says the death angel while ripping apart my bones. “Why am I still remain, to you,