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