Old Year
by Philip Haggard Berry
life, it trickles
like red blood droplets
arcing light
bent with riddles
minds swirl and falter
spiral down with sands of time
while heat and blades alter
what was solid now is slime
best hold fast to the middle
hold tight to blight
where death sways its
dull sycle
slice of life
slice of death
life is strife
death is fickle
some it kills slow
freezing lethargic in the snow
and the reaper goes on reaping
and the sad they go on weeping
for such is life
cest la vie
such is death
it and me
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