“Just because I am getting older, doesn’t mean this is the end of me, right?” Gun Roswell
The end of me
The wrinkles are there, for all. to stare All the money and even technology, spent Just gave me, a brief moment lent And now, all the loud music, is fading fast I truly don’t know, how much longer, I can last Hanging on, to this, self made thread Even if I know, it’s just a waste All this effort to try to remain, just the same A pretty face, with enough of a brain Alas, nature will take its course No matter how much you push and try to force In the end, only the flowers remain Pretty, and red, even, if I, myself, am dead
There really is no lesson nor pun intended Just a short rant of life, even if pretended To live for ever and ever and never die Well, anyways, at least they can say, I tried!
“Death, is just the beginning, right?” Gun Roswell
Is this, truly, the end?
“This will be the death of me” The low hanging leaf said, to the other one left “After all, it’s about time, for me, as it is already fall And, truly, I can no longer stall The inevitable circle, which is that of life No matter how hard, I try to put up a fight”
There was no response to the question As the last of its companion Was already floating down towards its destination Jumping in, without, any kind of hesitation
After a moment of contemplation Somehow, making the question mute in comparison Then, slowly, gently, the now colourless leaf Fell onto the waiting ground, without no one to grief After all, it was the end, of the season So hanging on, well, there really was no reason