Friday, 14 October 2016

And In My Time of Dying







and in my time of dying
when wisps of my being drift away
tendril thin, moonshine pale,
as my sight glazes then fades
like a lightbulb hanging dead
but still connected to the power
that crowns all things,
that connects all things,
I will pass from touch
and taste
and scent
leaving behind nothing
but the ache of passing, 
for not even the bitter sting
of my loved one's loss
can change the way of things,
nor the invention
of deities or heaven
can alter the facts of life and death.
All that lives is born to die
All that dies lived to love
.
.
.
Russell Cuts the Corn From The Brewers Whiskers.

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