Lonely Mortality
Like fragranced flowers soon will lose their smell
and colors fade from red to light pastel,
my body, now, will rot awaiting hell
as those I love have proffered to foretell.
Yet love is but a moments fleeting gift.
In passion’s heat it purges heart and soul
and in the end it leaves our mind adrift
too weak in lust to understand the toll.
So let the flames consume the mortal me,
no mourners at my grave to cry or grieve,
nor loss to life, my end could ever be,
with final breath, I’ll rise and quiet leave.
When gone, you see, is your antipathy,
pray not for me I need no sympathy.
10/21/2017
Copyright © James Inman | Year Posted 2017
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