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Till Next Time.

Updated: Jan 8, 2021


Till Next Time

People are laughing, smiling, happy,

Then the hammer strikes;

The hammer strikes

A nail in the coffin.

People are joking and sleeping,

Hoping for a future of bliss.

Then the shovel hits

The dirt.

One bit strong, two bits alive

A million parts human.

In one instance,

All we see is the dust.

All become the dust.

The scythe did its job.

The gavel does its own, as well.

Even all these tools someday will lust

For both the unworthy and the just.

It is heartbreaking

That Death has no favorites.

It’s either now, or now;

No matter how wonderful people are,

The bus crashes,

The bullet pierces,

Their heart fails,

They die.

Hearts are broken.

Life continues.

Buried with a lost loved one,

Is a little piece of our heart.

A piece that we’ll never get back.

We may heal,

But it will still hurt.

It always does.

We can never forget the sound

Of dirt being shoveled over death.

The coffin being lowered

At the burial site,

Till next time, we hope.

Till next time.


©2020 by Ayo Okikiolu.



I lost a dear friend a few years ago. Around that time, there were other tragedies that consumed the news cycle. This poem was born from this.

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Giwop Fame
Giwop Fame
Jan 09, 2021

That is so deep Ayo

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