The Coming Poem by Bailey Schatte

The last drop drips,
As the last leaf falls;
The last breath taken,
Kills the last of them all,
For now it's done and over,
With none left around,
So just close your eyes,
And begin to bow down.

You will call him your master,
You will call him sir,
You will never look him in the eyes,
For that would be absurd.

Stricken with fear,
You will shake and tremble,
Lose of breath will be oh so gentle,
Your life will end,
Just like those before,
So don't be scared,
Walking through his door.