Death like a cancer grows,
When it comes, nobody knows.
Enslaved in shadow,
This 'Killing King',
In wicked wonder, I feel Deaths sting.
Death follows creation,
Across the oceans,
Its mankinds damnation.
Death takes the young,
Visits the old,
Rich and poor alike,
Releases the soul.
What is this spector we call death?
It hunts and prowls for our last breath!
Death is with us everyday,
Bringing pain and sorrow,
It will never go away.
Pain, sorrow, misery, and tears,
Rules my fears.
A blackened spirit, wanting more,
Ending lifes' journey,
Will death knock on my door?
Philip Lore's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Deaths Journey by Philip Lore )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
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