And There, Death Levels Us All Poem by Agboyi Felix

N't that I seek in eagerness
And praise my death with sole abjectness.
I ask not that it fast approach.
But truth be not denied, be not reproached.
One day, in nature's out play,
I would shut still my mouth in the day.
Never to laugh again.
And my hands would be at chest glued.
Never to shake hands under the blue.
My ears would be as dump
And not the loudest call bump
Would tickle my ear drum.
And all would sound silent decorum.
Then I would create a horrible image
With my teeth at gnash and my gage
Stiffness would be as the ironwood portrayed.
Then I would be layed,
If not in a wooden cuboid,
And the corpse bearers would
Play wit me a bit.
And the grave prossession would lead.
Then into a pit,
I would be thrown.
And the termites on thier own,
Would perform a post-mortem in supercede
Until the heavens intercede
And we all would be subject to calls.
And there, death levels as all.