Last Breath


Wasting away the precious minutes.
Constantly pressing to end the day.
Yesterday you were seventeen and
tomorrow you will be seventy-five.
Sitting alone cashing tomorrow's dreams
and before you know it's your last dawn.
Then maybe the fire or an eternal sleep
or maybe we got it all wrong.
An then one day its icy hands grab
your face and steal your last breath.
Cold you feel as if all is lost to the
final moment when you face death.

The illustration, "Hands," created by and © K.L.Storer, all rights reserved.