Best Deathbeds Poems

The sand is stained red
with our bygone blood,
the blood that brought us from Ararat to the Alti,
a tribe trekking intrepidly through the Eurasian terrain,
caravans of Caucasians clad with Celtic tartan twills
plaids upon the pale horse heros of prehistory
settling the stupefying steppes one generation after another
with...

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On my deathbed,
will someone know me?
Like nobody else,
someone who chose me.

Will I have another half,
holding my hand?
From now until then,
will it hurt more,
or will it hurt less?

Will I hide from thunder,
or take a chance and get wet?
Is the answer in my head,
or blowing in the...

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