Death what hated thing you are <br />forever you have ridden far <br />you stinking bag of rotting pus <br />that fills your belly at the trough <br />you enemy of given birth <br />that hides in shadows of no worth <br />your hand prepared to take the throat <br />of mighty king or lowly roach <br /> <br />Death you are the bastard son <br />that makes pain walk <br />and helps plague run <br />defiler of all things anew <br />on land or sea you'll take your due <br />wishing to destroy all love <br />waiting to take all above <br />for everything under the sun <br />you ache for all and miss out none.<br /><br />Charles M. Moore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/death-23/
