Down the other side of the mountain

From the high peak of the middle years

We walk downwards slowly but it’s clear.

We lose our parents siblings other kin

Who will now agree we are born to win?

Our bodies stiffen while we’re yet alive

Who will die,atone,does God decide?

From the man he takes the caring wife

The heart itself will harden in the strife

Last Man standing is a bag of bones

In his grave the king decays alone.

I welcome comments and criticism

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