A Last Look

I float above the body I inhabited before
It died. How sad it looks, how sad it had
Become before it breathed its last. An ancient
Thing, worn out, and worse, devoid of any urge
To go on living, beyond obligations to its
Progeny and theirs, it sank into a living hell,
An emptiness, from which it never rose,
And all of the adventures it had undertaken
In its youth were recollected only dimly,
Not repeated, and, in fact, described as
Ill-advised to children who became adults
Who shunned those sorts of things. The body
Dies. The family grows weak. A mournful
Calm prevails. The spirit, starved, makes
Plans to leave. There's nothing here.
Perhaps somewhere, the urge to act,
To burrow into life, to embark on
Adventures, still exists. I'll search
For it, and let this broken, lifeless body
End its time, disintegrating deep
Within the ground.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 62 times
Written on 2020-09-05 at 11:21

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