Death. Poem by Dyllan Martin

Cold, icey fingers,
Pierce the greyness you claim is skin,
As you take your last few breaths,
In and out,
In and out,
Speak shall you? Tell me what you wish to leave behind,
Clock ticks,
Live the steady beating of your heart,
Steady now,
Pale and cold, Gray and clammy,
The scent of death surrounds you,
Trapped in white walls,
No escape now,
You clock has stopped,
Hour glass ran out of sand,
Too late to say goodbye,
He carries you away,
To a land of the lost,
The living have gone,
The dead remain.