My Final Hour
As the time approaches my mind wonders
Taking me back over mistakes and blunders
Turning them over to see were I was wrong
Could it have been different if I’d been strong?
Passing these sad things back into my memories
I settle down on the white mat upon my knees
I reach out my hand and take the bowl so fine
Bringing to my lips that warming rice wine
I savoir the taste and the gentle burn it brings
The slightest lift it gives, as if I had wings
I taste the three pickles laid upon my plate
Upon this bright and sunny yet solemn date
The pickles are sweet and tangy a taste delight
Cooked to perfection they are crunchy and light
I remember the meals throughout all my days
And I remember the sunsets with coloured rays
I pick up brush and ink and paper so white
My final poem I now compose and write
Letting out the emotions and thoughts within
I fix upon my face my famous lopsided grin
Dressed all in white from my head to my toes
I straighten my kimono and my face compose
I lay the blade upon within reach on the ground
And around the hilt thick white paper is wound
I pull apart my kimono and my stomach reveal
I stretch out my arms and clasp the cold steel
I drive the point inwards like a wound up spring
And stretch my neck and await my seconds swing
Now all I know is blackness, I see no more
My lopsided grin bounces and rolls on the floor
The only regret I have left from my life before
Is that I never saw her smiling face once more
Copyright © Anthony Mathias | Year Posted 2007
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