DEATH IS BUT METAPHORICAL

 Like the steel door closed, until all noise are no more

Human, plants, animals, properties, fine or beastly

Like all come to dark when silence reins in; light out

That neither tumbles, lightening, waves, wails nor roars changes

But still, death is nought but metaphorical; a simple symbolism 

Humans come, love and live in a time and space then give

Or plants that grows, serves; consumed or rot to nought

Like breeze that touches passing; sweet but moves on

Like morning turns afternoon then evening that must scheduled

In this fountain called world, we are like but as in willow

Death we call it for convenience stands for taking turns

A placative metaphorical euphemism for moral riddance

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