Anticipation of that Moment

70
(Ode to Mark Strand)

Poets love death, for that’s their existential
Crisis, the juice that makes them write
The immortal point of heavens
And the final Dream of laughter

I am not thinking of death
For Death thinks of me
I am not standing alone
For being alone is my script

To observe a world as lonely as this?
And point to dying as an epiphany
For mortality is a leafless change
Youth too short, those city of souls

Too transient! I no longer yearn
For the great plaza of life, or the various
Temptations that one might find in existence
It’s all fair and well, O’ let is all be done soon

I love mystery and as such, I’m looking
Forward to the journey that is death
Though one thing I dislike, this waltz in
Delirium, I will no longer be able to write!

2 thoughts on “Anticipation of that Moment

    • The life of a poet is sad, though the joy of writing is one of the greatest of joys, so to balance the two, I’d not prefer to live many lives as a writer…but I’m lucky, I believe in reincarnation.

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