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