Friday, 11 March 2016

And In My Time of Dying


when wisps of my soul 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
as taste then smell vanish
leaving behind nothing
but the ache of guilt, 
for not even the bitter sting
of my loved ones loss
can change the way of things,
nor the invention
of deities or heaven
can alter the facts of life and death,
That all that lives is born to die.

Russell Cuts the Corn From The Brewers Whiskers.

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A Utility Fish Shed Blog

A Utility Fish Shed Blog