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Those bent on self-destructiontend not to avert their gaze;
ready, willing and able
to face the gathering storm
in all its mighty splendor.
That death rattle awaits them.
Their last breath reaps a cool breeze;
the hardest harvest of all.
Their secular cremation,
Requiem Mass in plain clothes.
Skin and bones... reduced to dust...
Their remains...? Scattered ashes.
Wow! That's almost too close for comfort. A strong piece of writing.
ReplyDeleteSo few of us have a full understanding of life...our meager ration in the enormity of time. Sadly not many listen to poets!
ReplyDeleteGosh.
ReplyDeleteGosh.
ReplyDelete