Bleeding Edge (Death Poem)

Change is living every second.
For me, it is the spice of life,
Proof that I am not dead – yet,
Living on the bleeding edge today.

Changeless, death by boredom.
For some, it is the sea of tranquillity,
Proof alas, that dead can also be alive
Living, but dying by seconds daily.

poem by Ian Beckett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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