unlock all futures
Death is my final poem,
I will write
Till the ink runs out,
I will write
The wordless eulogy:
Of days of night,
Of the ravenโs flight,
Of the nomad,
The no-man โ spoiled.
Death is my final poem,
I will croon
If only I could
Exclude tribulations,
As tributes
Like a springless river
Or a fountain
Of youthful dreams โ
run dry.
Death is my final poem,
I will mourn
The empty parchments,
I will mourn
Their absence,
I will mourn
In silent โ contemplation.
Death is my final poem.
The dawning of the frozen
Time; the unticking clock
Of awakening;
The primary cycle
Interrupted.
Hark! He knocks.
Death is my final poem.
Unwritten by hands
Shaking; by eyes
Weakened and the grey
Tears of a heaven.
Hark! Again the pounding.
Death is my final poem.
Distractions of deluded
Grandeur sail above
Innocent clouds.
Hark! Hark!
Death is my final poem.
Dissonance of unread Mail;
Drawers of dull knives filled.
Hark?
Death is the final poem
I will write
โฆ as I unlock all futures โฆ