Its Time.

His presence at the scene,
Made his life flash infront of his eyes,
At a point,perhaps,he saw life meanigless,
The silence, ironically gave him peace,
A psychopath was he?

His hands deep in his pockets,
The whooshing sound as breeze flow among the trees,
The obelisks,some faded,conquered the vast land.
With souls underneath,
Some caged,never to resurrect

Chills run through his spine,
Perhaps, Azrael was near,
Somehow,he would hear his footsteps on the cobblestone,
It was cold,conceivable,it was his time.

@TheLuoPoet