Sometimes life seems like an emergency

And you go on trucking until full-stop

Screeching on the acrid brakes

Putting an end to that which aches

Don't trust doctors or lawyers

Those who come to your aid

Prayers, when there is an ill,

Are better spent as a bandaid

The others have no role to fulfill

Except padding on a bank account

No accounting for taste just when

The patient comes to a physical end

End of life is a crock by a crook

There is no comfort for the living

Except by hoodwink and a hook

Reeling us in so we are believing

Thus the cycle begins again...

You need to make a poetry book!