Joy of Poetic Death
I will die if I wake up in a dream
and find myself on the page of a book.
I will die if I wake up
and find this is a dream.
I will die if I wake up
and find myself on a book.
I would be dead if I awoke
and found my dream so gone.
May be I would still die
if I discover it was only a dream.
I want to stay awake and be up
when come death to carry me away.
I want to live my life on the lane;
the clear lines on a page.
On the fast lane I dwell indeed,
I want to live a thriller and die
be dead and come to live again,
Creating rhyming lines of epic poetry.
I really need to die soon and live fully
in the transformation of light and dark
that illuminates life and death.....
Experiencing the joy of my own death.
If life and death was purely a dream
one that could kill me dead
on the virgin page of my open book....
Then in poetry I would feel the joy.
If the virgin lifestyle is an empty dream
then in death I pray for an open book
which is where I truly long to live:
Painting experiences of my eternal life.
For sure I want to live and die
transversing the yearning lane
that defines the parameters of my poetry
When I wake up and just find myself dead.
Poetry is surely an artistic lifestyle
When you die and soon out you fly
Observing your experiences from the cloudy sky
Then you relive your life in lines of poetry.
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