Echoes Of Time Poem by Anthony Degilio

Sands of time, winds of fate,
Dust to dust, it’s to late,
Life’s hourglass draining slowly,
Even the praying and the holy,
Succumb to death’s embrace,
Each at different pace,
The young boy with cancer,
To the old man without answers,
The reaper chooses the hour,
As it races from the darkest tower,
To charge an unfortunate soul,
With paying the unthinkable toll,
Some say death is not the end,
Dying will only make us ascend,
To a place of remembrance and lore,
The Echoes of Time forevermore.