The elite in their towers touch sky,
Yielding power and strength to buy,
Will succumb to death... Mr Sly.
The sun, fiery furnace so bold,
To decay will one day be sold,
Burnt embers turned so cold.
The flowers that bloom and sway,
Shall wilt and wither one sad day,
Even as in their beds they lay.
The mountains climbing so majestically,
Will crumble to dust, certain eventuality,
Their peaks erased so magically.
The vast oceans from shore to shore,
Shall envelop land masses for sure,
But even they may be stories of lore.
Would that we truly grasped the truth,
Life is a cycle an unstoppable brute, A process so strong,
we can't dilute!
02/06/2014
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem