Death is not only of the old

And the young too bold

It is not only the reserve of graves silent,

And bodies now still


There is a death that never dies

A death that only they who live on may die

It too is silent

It too is still

It too is of the old and bold


I die every day,

Thinking of what was,

What is,

And what will never be


I die every day,

When I through fading light,

See who I could be,

But cannot be


I die every day,

I stare down the faces of opportunities

And with shaky hands,

Cast them into the void of indifference!


I die every day,

That I to silence commit my thoughts

I die every day that I ‘live’

I die every day that I crumble to fear


A coward ought not be despised.

He who dies a thousand times

Suffers more than the brave who dies once

And yet I die every day

What are you looking for?