Choking, as
if invisible hands are squeezing,
My own life
slowed to Sam Peckinpah pace
As I look
at the corpse, the once smiling face
Devoted to
a God who took some pleasing.
A lump in
my throat, emotions at a bottleneck,
Stuck in
the realisation that we arrive and leave.
That’s
life, a beginning and an end, no reprieve,
No lasting
forever, no clue, no use-by date to check.
In our time
here on this fragile Earth,
From our
first to our last breath,
We can only
travel from birth to death,
No chance
of a repair journey from death to birth.
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