When do people start queuing up to die?
There's those like flies that drop in multitudes,
Some join when hardly out of puberty
Others don't recognise a queue at all.
Once joined, that queue, casts its deathly pall
Across the old, aged panorama.
Couples hold hands to die before their time
While few taunt death in adventurous finds.
There's even purpose built God waiting rooms,
Where the vista of life turns towards death.
Society caters for the aged
By dropping some into cages.
Experience allowed to dissipate
Amongst the deathly thoughts on ones last fate.
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