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And Your Very Flesh Shall Become A Great Poem - Walt Whitman

Posts tagged death

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Today I Thought of Death

Today I was thinking of death again.
Of the bleakest winter that befalls the years—
Of the sunburn that bubbles and poisons the skin—
Of all the conversations whispered as the clock ticks down,
with your mouth drying out but still spitting syllables by the dozen.
I thought of the individual colors in any piece of art,
and the movement of grass dancing in the wind—
I thought of flowers that have since died finally pushing
their way up through the gravel to kiss the sun for the
first time this year.
I thought of love, coming and going, just as quickly as
the seasons. 
Today, I was thinking of death—
But more importantly I was thinking of life.

Filed under poetry original creative writing death life living winter hope love

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What I Want

I want to be in touch with the world,
to hear the mountains and the oceans
speak,
to see the winking of stars and the sun
smiling.
I want to feel the arms of trees wrapped 
around me like a blanket,
and the clouds beneath my head when I sleep.
There are few things I have wanted in my
lifetime,
and now that I have reached this age,
I wish to feel them all at once,
flooding my senses,
so I can die at once,
peacefully, happily, and in love.

Filed under poetry original creative writing life nature want death world senses

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Easter Mourning

It is April and I am dying.
My mind is the center of the book,
It is the climax, the rising and falling actions.
I awoke today to see bile flowing from my mouth
like the proverbs of any religion. 
And I am not sorry to view it this way.
My neck needs to crack in seven places and my
back is made of sheet rock this morning.
My hands are ice and my eyes are drooping,
Thank goodness for the Resurrection.

Filed under original creative writing poetry Easter Life death sick april

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On Mortality

People find it funny when I tell them
that I am going to live forever.
Not in the wilting flesh clinging to my
bones like icicles to trees in winter,
No, that will fall from me soon after
I leave here physically.
Not in the small fingerprints left in the
fabrics of the people I have encountered,
No, they too will die and leave behind nothing
but dust and ashes.
But you here, reading me know, would you be
so quick to forget me if I told you all of life’s answers?
I should hope not, but I’ll keep you guessing anyway.

Filed under original creative writing poetry life living death mortality