It’s the waiting that’s worst
for me anyway. Not for the poor sod
in hospital dying on a cliff edge.
And those with him knowing but hoping
to tear up on the inside and peace. The great Picard In The Sky says
‘Make it so’ and the life support is turned off and the pod ejected into space
to end up orbiting a small planet or moon. I am thinking in a minor key.
But I think to survive. I cannot stop thinking because of death despite
the convention of reflection and grief wherever that may lead me like a horse down on a carriage to a dirt track country road that has many turns.
Okay. It’s Okay. Life will continue. The beat will go on but our band will be one less lest others join the throng. The past will come to bear.
I will have to meet that face I despise and fuck death aside like a broom that has no bristles.
People will sit down and I will lament A knife unknown a life not trodden yet and wonder is this more than people dealing with it?
The heartless story will go on and with a wounded pride, I will take my place at another death eaters mass.