Death has always been behind me,
watching my every youthful step.
Hearing my desperate, cold pleas.
Staying Its hand, knowing great things.
Knowing it is not yet my time
even if I should wish it so,
even if I'd turn in my crimes.
Staying Its hand: I'm unworthy.
Unworthy of the afterlife
for there is still so much to do.
Much more existence to survive.
Staying Its hand, tired souls are best.
Best, heaviest, the greatest cost.
Sold gladly above or below.
A harvest gathered, weighed, and tossed.
A hand played with an Ace of Spades.
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Sitting Here Thinking (2019)
PoetryShort poems of varying subjects and construction, but deep enough to be swallowed in. Written while sitting anywhere, lost in thought about everything and anything. These were written mostly in the year 2019. Please feel free to leave any feedback...
