Oh death, when will you show me your face? I feel your presence but I can't make you out. Cursed, was I, since birth to be ripped from this earth. Already it was written by the gods themselves that such a day will come. But still I scoff at my fate, living life as if I myself were that of a deathless god. But deep down, knowing that I too bleed, boils endless thoughts and fears of my inevitable fate. For like the sands of time winding down its man-made glass, my end comes closer with every hour passed. The date and hour is truly unknown, I await with blindess, in darkness alone.
Poetry Written By Jacob Armendariz 