I close with fumbling fingers
The crypt of my fathers
Some remnant of their presence lingers
The door is crumbling and heavy
Age is a burden all must shoulder
Save a few who embrace
Their death laughing
Their laughter dying
On the lips of their mourners
Or reverberate in the singing Stones
I am the last and the first
I rush to IT
The glory of my life in its conclusion
Like the blush of a sunset in the twilight
No comments:
Post a Comment