A Dream: On Death
If for some reason,
breath abandones me
And pipes in pride to
muse an eldern glow
Then think I past the
odds of chastened glee
That breath is prime in
death as seconds grow.
When past the borders
stretched behind a gate
A saint be asking "how o
how o how"
I shall engage discourse
to mock this Fate
And curse "be made to
flee, I plead thee now".
When strong remains he,
"die", I say there hence
And watch the being
embrace a smokey form
I shall then sing a plea of
dusk-silence
While wings affright my
game in uniform.
Perhaps I must despoil a
room in Hell
Or wait upon the Lord to
death, counsel.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
