Death Our Last Race Poem by James McLain

Death is this our last race.
How do we move from this place,
am I next do you dream?
Moving from one point in between to the next?
The sun leaves no leaf on the tree upturned,
untroubled by the look on your face growing doubt.
As the world turns you it changes.
And death sets it's pace.
How do we trade one place for the next for a dream?
Living the dream that most can't,
watching T.V. the world as they know how it changes.
Death is this our last race.