When the chin hits the chest
The last gasp is drawn
The last curl of the toes
The last shrug of the shoulders.
When the chin hits the chest
Everybody goes
The loved and the lonely
The cowards and the heroes
The believers and the cynics
When the chin hits the chest
All vanity is erased
All hope is ejected
All tomorrows are yesterdays
All possibilities are not
All if only’s are never.
When the chin hits the chest
We finally rest
And the lies are all counted
And the days are all numbered
And the fear is all over
And the way is so clear
As the body lies empty
And the world goes on spinning
Without us.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
all possibilities are not ... good one gotta get you writing limericks, if you haven't already. They are a gas