Going where others dare not dwell.
Wandering through the streets of Hell.
My street’s, not paved with angry gangs,
Graffiti, thugs, and woeful pangs.
My neighborhood, in my minds eye,
Surrounded by Death, standing by.
Moving slowly, you see Him come.
Do not try, he can’t be out run.
Not always strike, with mercy quick.
Instead, lingers, with morbid flick.
Crushing spirit until it bursts,
Lapping up what remains, He thirsts.
This devil Death, an evil soul
Makes the dying first pay a toll.
Not for me, this time, come creeping.
No, but me, he will leave weeping.
Grieving not only of love’s loss,
But fear my path, with death’s, may cross.
– – June Nash
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