Death
comes in many forms
to
some he's a buzzing black cloud, a swarm
to
others he's the grim, a big black dog
not
forgetting those that thinks he's a frog
some
say he rides the clouds of thunder storms
like
magic there are tricks he can perform
he's
in the now and constantly informed
starting
his journey as a morning fog
Death
comes in many forms
gathered
up in the darkness he transforms
mingling
with commoners, bodies warm
next
on his list, this guy, eats like a hog
ripped
out his soul, body left like a log
some
souls except while some never conform
Death
comes in many forms
Rondeau
Poem
Copyright
© 2014 by Patrick B Vince
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