Death has a strange appearance,
He comes to reap your soul,
before your thoughts can construct.
you sway back and forth in a black void,
full of turmoil.
No hope in escaping.
No use in trying.
But Death is welcoming,
he offers a freedom,
a timeless place.
no more strife,
no emotions,
no more mortality.
Luck to those he picks.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
one by one we will all be picked, some may be ready yet others will fear. But we must all know that one day will be our turn. Thank you