A Few Steps From His Dug Up Grave
The undulating pine trees
try not to weep as they really should;
they hold the tiny, slowly falling raindrops,
sensing the mortality that turns him cold
without a sob, without tears,
and standing a few steps
from his dug up grave:
he expresses much sorrow
for himself, for the agonies that'll follow...
accepting such an irreversible fate!
Thereby, his bones without flesh,
will rest peacefully and forget death;
long is their wait...showing no haste!
" Oh, wait...hopeless one, don't rush your final day,
compromise for more time instead; frighten not:
no burning incense is placed on the marble tray,
no flowers are bought, neither is the casket! "
That's the ghostly voice shuddering him,
and from which nearby grave it came from?
Is it an angelic one suggesting a sigh of glee,
or a demonic one asking for some hefty fee?
What a thrill is to be given more serene days;
and what a pity is not to heed a life-saving advice!
He's turning around to continue this journey twice;
he'll embrace his dear ones who started to grieve and tell them
about his brief encounter with death beneath the droopy helm;
hasn't celestial favor spared him from the agony of a dark realm?
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2023
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