Last night

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  • Death

    Last night
    I have witnessed something;
    In heavens above, on earth below.
    life can be authentic except it's not.

    There is a cliff awaiting me;
    comforts me to grasp the stars,
    giving me serenity.

    I seek no one as I
    Glance at my past so quick.
    Is there a Spirit watching me
    at this edge of the world.?

    Will my footprints remain
    And breath be taken
    by the breeze.?

    As the stars show; the
    spectacle is a miracle.
    The universe glimpsed me there.

    Near me the clouds stirring;
    Above me bliss; under me
    no more sorrow.

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    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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