Rigor Mortis

Watch these slowly drying up Her eyeballs sink in deep Her pale-colored cheek cups Shrink, the body rests in sleep. No rising of the chest to breathe, No movement of the arms, Stiffness envelops it with A darkening of her charms. Color slowly fades the hands, Darkened fingers stiffen, Legs straight in mute stand Death forcefully had taken. All men will fall in a salute To the Taker of finite things Eternal sentence to commute Not welcomed, but he's coming. No choices made, we all but follow And march towards the grave, Our naked destiny for tomorrow For rich, for poor, and for the brave. 'To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.' December 2,2009