Colin F. Jones


Why did you die? Because he slit your throat!
Wherefrom the blood, that gave you life, ran free.
Thereafter, all you did was waste and bloat,
Leaving what you were, in men like me.
You have no pain and yet it lives in me;
It defines your image imprinted in my brain.
You are not here for my eyes to see
Yet what I see inside is just the same.
Dear friend, lost comrade, soon we all will come
For life is but a phase in deaths long book.
Soon after doing, all things are then done ~
Enclosing every portion in one look.
What is this life that has so short a lease ~
That by its birth, deaths multitudes increase?