A Wise Man Poem by mark anthony st. rose

So I sat under the tree and asked the wise man,
' so what about death? '

And he said, ' Death is just an illusion we perceive,

that belies the reality
of the indestructibility
of life.
Death is like a barren wife.
But life flows like a stream,
an invisible beam
in and out of consciousess,
like when we sleep and wake,
somebody bear me witness,
and know this to be true
like the illusion of the sky blue.
Death is a disintegration
paving paths for new integration.

Death is like a sombre sunset
in an eternal recurring day.

Death is like a dark Knight
in a Shakespeare's play.

And the wise man remained silent and smiled,
looked at me with calm eyes and said,
' so be at peace my child'.




Copyright by Mark anthony St. Rose. All rights reserved.