Poetry Never Dies
When that time comes and the reaper sows
the trap door’ hinges open up a hopeful gap
music from the underworld entices grace
with one ultimate decisive stride in lockstep
of Self vagaries union and agonizing pleas
A wise man carefully narrates his memories
an opus eulogy fat volume or a single word
carved out from promise of never-ending love
his memoir about to fade when ink has dried
a hero’s last whisper on parched paper byes
The scythe man took his time as if to tease
out a last drop of conscience from the soul
lying beyond mind reason feeling final call
a clean rapid death is all he dares to request
in quest for a few quiet moments in repose
What’s left behind is nothing like the journey
full steam ahead into an unknown new realm
a ply-board coffin and rose petals on the grave
unless he wished for ashes scattered into wind
once the kiss of life draws its ultimate breath
08th April 2021
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