Death

A man called Seth,

Walked to his death.

To the edge of a cliff,

Not thinking 'what if,'  

For he knew he must die,

That was true, not a lie.

The end was so near,

Ever closer, now here.

He now walked the road,

To where he would explode.

He did not perspire, 

Though he soon would retire.

His breathing was steady,

His brain clear and ready.                         

He thought not of home,

Or his brother Jerome.

Of his Mother's soft touch,

Or his wife's earnest clutch.

Of his daughter's sad cry,

Or his baby son's sigh.

He looked only ahead,

To the place of the dead.

The weight of the world,

On his shoulders been hurled.

So his work was to leave,

Without time to grieve.

Because with Seth alive,

Humans can't thrive.