Finally she asks if I am sick and dying
How can I answer her?
Everybody is dying
From the moment one is born
He begins to count his steps to his grave
He begins to save money for his funeral
What makes him sick
Is the belief that he is healthy and wise
He will not die someday like the rest
To think that one is not sick
Is sickening enough
Not to think about death
That It comes anytime
Anywhere
Is sickening enough.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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