Dying Words Of A Man Poem by john tiong chunghoo

i hate the dying words of a man,
they come out in helpless whispers,
listless feathers in the wind, fluttering,
floating, trailing to the finale of a life
to empty the living of hope and choke
their hearts with cold cold gravel and stones

i hate the dying words of a man,
they spill from a physique weighed down
by the cold realities of life and now
a mere few audible words to storm
the living and the dying out of its reality