Balloons
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Chris Hubbard, Grade 8
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Poetry
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2019
Three types of people who are of this world:
First, the creature who is killed by conceit,
Second, he whose own life he doeseth furled;
Last, the man who Death as a friend, does greet.
The dead live still, in heart, in mind, in life;
Hands of our opposite are burning cold,
Mortality is just always in strife,
So tomorrow, remember, and behold.
People are balloons… they rise up, by heart;
Colourful and beautiful, ‘till they ‘pop’.
Death is life, and life is death, as one part.
As sad as happiness, ‘till the last stop.
A journey, it is, with no time to sigh.
It stops you just as you’re starti-