Rigor Mortis

Watch slowly drying up
Her eyeballs sink in deep
Pale-colored cheek cups shrink
As the body rests in sleep.

No rising of the chest to breathe
No movement of the arms
Stiffness envelops it with
A darkening of her charms.

Color slowly fades the hands
Darkened fingers stiffen
Legs straight in a mute stand
Death forcefully had taken.

All men will fall in a salute
To the Conqueror of finite things
Eternal sentence to commute
Unwelcomed, but he is coming.

No choices made, we all but follow
And march towards the grave
Our naked destiny for tomorrow
For rich, for poor, and for the brave.

'To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.'

December 2,2009

poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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