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Poem

Death instills the final emotion, defining the rhythm of life,
While understanding its passage is left to a wiser man;
The simplicity of a moment lays deep within, and is limited to the meaning 
withheld’
But we may all be gone in a moment, condemned to the changing time …
Yet when I die just dig a hole and throw in my mangy bones 
 
Death mocks us in the starlight, and beckons on the suns rebirth,
Silent thoughts are thus imposed, when loud a church bell sounds,
In melodic rhyme the rhythm of time, came out over a graven mist, 
And how bitter the solitude foretold, when morn led on to day …
But when I die just dig a hole and throw in my mangy bones 

Death remains an enigma once held to a passing thought,
When lines of an ancient mariner are lost forever more;
Structured words are what our mind recalled, and are played to the rhythm of 
life
And intent we are to things unseen when sunrise turns to day…
Yet when I die just dig a hole and throw in my mangy bones

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