The Hangman And Thereafter.

The elongated hands with a curve,
And the stench it carries along,
Trails of endless unseen sweats and then the change in heartbeat,
Gasping for air and then, the final breath,
That's the trumpet the hangman blows.

And then when it blows its trumpet,
The deceased is gone, but the aftermath still lies fresh,
In the heart of those left by,
Questions like why him/her filled their head,
But behind that lies a veil of fear,
That tomorrow may be theirs.

The beauty of life lies in nature,
And the gloom it brings all lies in the hands of the hangman,
It is a tragedy that must be felt by all,
A retribution to be paid for living.
And no whining or cries can bring an end to it.

However, life has been lived, doesn't matter,
The hangman takes whenever it matters,
From the old, young, baby, and fetus,
It crashes all with its flat bosom.
Not with a care or fear, it opens it mouth wide,
To swallow the soul and leave the body to nature's bed.

The arrival of doomsday has been spoken about and written out,
Like pamphlet in the hands of men,
Yet, it doesn't stop the evil doers or the good deeds of others,
For at the end of the day, when the doomsday carries us all,
No one would know the retribution faced by another.

And, this brings the message of the thereafter,
If you believe it exists,
You would get to see the world born anew,
And maybe destiny will cluck you together like a hen,
To the people you once followed,
Before the arrival of doomsday.

Maybe life will be lived again,
In another dimension or a place we all know,
And then maybe the hangman will come,
To continue its job,
And then the cycle may continue, and retribution be felt.
And who knows what else, there just could be the need for another thereafter.