Death

• Ben Steedman, Grade 7
• Poetry
• 2007

Death,
Hot lead going right through the body
The guilt of another, the enemy
Taking ones life, for the so called glory of his country

Fever rising to 40 degrees Celsius
Writhing in bed
Calling for some blessed water
Can’t be heard death is approaching

Weaker and weaker, diminishing the body
Until finally the head is immobile
Alive in body, but not by soul
The disease is taking its toll.

The snake strikes
The venom flowing right through the blood
Deliriously, he seeks help until he drops

Death is the deadliest disease