Womb or the Tomb

Are we the placenta in the centre?
Are we the road through which we enter?
This warmth can only hold us for a while
When we leave our host, we welcome the hostile

It is silent and cold as a tile
A box riddled with a lifetime trial
Behind the clouds is a mic and a presenter
To read out the words on the obituary poster

About how one led us to our beginning
And the other to our ending
We are petals that the wind blows away
We are the dust, the earth and the musk of decay.

Vera