I Think It Is Not
It is not easy, I think
To let go of life
Ready or not to say good-bye to the soul
No more thought or pain or breath
An end to a heart beat
But to a posthumous poet it never is -
No more opportunity to reveal a poem
Knowing never to have inspired someone to write poetry
Trading a blank sheet of paper and ink
For such a blessed Death
I think it is not easy
To stop smiling or crying forever
For lips to freeze
Hands and feet to remain petrified
Morosely eaten by worms
Giving in to the mockery of living
And the defiance of dying
Not knowing but perhaps loving the dark silence
Something melancholy and esoteric
Only known to Angles’ and Saints
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