The ramblings of an old man.

The old man lay upon the floor,
The young man stood at the door.
My son, The old man said,
He looked at him in dread.

I'm dying my friend, but I'll be born again,
An for those who may be bound,
I leave this wicked ground.
For those who fear in dread,
the terrors of the dead,
Its all a simple lie,
That it is bad to die.
For The one's who's left behind,
See the world as kind,
For those who left you will,
Live beyond here still.
Their thoughts will still be born,
And useful things be bred.
Even though, its not in flesh,
Ideas can still be spread.
For those who live here still,
Stay true in heart and will,
And face the hardest life,
With honesty or knife.
For the afterlife is the same,
Whether you die in peace or pain.

To be continued later...

P.S. Vote for me in the battle

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