Have I Spoken Lately? Poem by Eric Cockrell

have i spoken lately
too often of death?
hard not to...
when i can feel
the hot breath on my neck.
and the shudder of blackness
that rattles my bones!
the knock, the figure in shadow,
too familiar to feel safe.
the hand as cold as ice,
that takes all,
leaving nothing behind.
but tis not fear i feel,
just a tired resignation.
and a powerful sense
of things left undone,
and stars i forgot to name!
as for love,
i know not what else,
or what more i could have done.
i just pray it's enough,
the very breath of my dreams,
and the intent beneath my thoughts.
so, so be it!
i have no baggage.
the moon is full,
the path is sure.
tis not flowers that you smell,
but the scent of my pure longing!