Rigor Mortis Poem by Cynthia Buhain-baello

Watch these slowly drying up
Her eyeballs sink in deep
Her pale-colored cheek cups
Shrink, the body rests in sleep.

No rising of the chest to breathe,
No movement of the arms,
Stiffness envelops it with
A darkening of her charms.

Color slowly fades the hands,
Darkened fingers stiffen,
Legs straight in mute stand
Death forcefully had taken.

All men will fall in a salute
To the Taker of finite things
Eternal sentence to commute
Not welcomed, but he's coming.

No choices made, we all but follow
And march towards the grave,
Our naked destiny for tomorrow
For rich, for poor, and for the brave.










'To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.'

December 2,2009