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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