Tale

After a few million breaths,

appears the inevitable last.

Tarnished with bothersome churned flesh

of yesterdays and tomorrows,

you are but a parched leaf

to the hungry mouth of demise.

But the grumbling you

would unquestionably deny seeing

the repeated-ness of your habitual roar.

Only when tales would begin to wrap up

would you desolately notice,

your tale is no different from the one before.