Death and Taxes

Mind the times
They tell me.
I do,
But I don’t.

I am eternal
And least likely
To question the normative,
The everlasting emptiness.

We know the kind I am,
Disbarred and depleted,
Like so many kinsman,
So many thoughtful prophets.

We’re all alone,
In life and death,
And I’m just making do
While paying dues.

I need a benefactor
For a destitute soul,
But the endless voids
Are so hard to fill.


Published by: cynicalwordsmith

I am, by no means, a professional writer. I have no dreams of becoming such. I just enjoy writing in my very sparse free time, both poetry and short stories. If you enjoy any of my works in particular, feel free to tell me. I always enjoy the feedback.

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