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'Tis Fate

Rating: 5.0
Death numbers its fold, none
are told. Spinning its dial all
are filed.

'Tis fate, too late, there is no debate.
Each goes where death dictates.

Faith states otherwise. Death in its
resolution knows of none. All must be
undone. Spun back to where all began.
Atoms atomised.

Neatly excised with its scythe. No one is
ever apprised. The last breath taken is
when all expire.
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COMMENTS
Kostas Lagos 16 March 2021
Excellent death poem
0 0 Reply
Deluke Muwanigwa 16 March 2021
Truth in prose. In any case why worry about a place you ve never been to. Worry about the now, the place you are.
0 0 Reply
Evelyn Judy Buehler 16 March 2021
Your poem has great flow and rhyming. Nicely done!
0 0 Reply
Varsha M 15 March 2021
Yeah it's true. Last breath is final. But between first breath and last man does many things that he thought...not just fate. So i believe man is the writer of his own fate.
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