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Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Death Speaks



I am the last tick of the clock
the departing train
the sound of wind in a tunnel
the catch in your throat
No one speaks my name
though I am always present
I am here
when you first stretch each limb
into this world
I watch
as life swirls around you
as you feed each craving
of your nimble body and mind
I wait
I am the cobwebs in the hall
the click of the vault
the dust on the prairie
the rapturous coda
No need to seek
I will find you.

submitted for the Sunday Whirl, Wordle 111
and mindlovemisery, Prompt 6, Personification