Living with Death

The first brush comes,
shortly, after birth.
No one, prepares you,
For the delayed reaction,
over, your whole lifetime.

The oldest, generation,
first, followed by the next
and then the next, until it is us,
to face, times natural
guillotine’s, sharpened,
steel edges.

We are left living,
until, we are not, with
their absence and our loss,
that can, never be,
replaced, by another’s DNA,
as no two, materialise,
in exactly, the same way.

To never again, see that person,
is one, of the cruellest and most
inevitable fates,
in any life’s time.

Photo by Rod Long on Unsplash


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