Die A Log Dialogue Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

'While wine still trickles fickle Death
must sheath sharp sickle, pause for breath
which hope for scope empowereth.'
To phantom sigh said passer by.

'The spine that shivers sets the score
for mind beyond dark shadows hoar -
what's lust to who may prey no more? '
To passer by ghost of reply.

'Tears, fears, arrears are paid in Time
as Trust plays out Life's p[h]antomime
awaiting Paradise sublime.'
To phantom sigh said passer by.

'Death knows no fears, they're faced before
some trembling mirage sins restore:
tears soon submerged in sonic roar.'
To passer by said phantom sigh.

'No favours asked, no quavers given,
by backward glance no joys are driven,
but sins forgotten, sins forgiven.
To phantom: 'Why? ' said passer by.

'Temptation taps a semaphore
of semi quavers sped instead
of scene that's seen, Mort or Amor.'
To passer by said phantom sigh.

'Life should be rose without mourn thorn
where each day drinks due dew at morn,
infinite promise, thread untorn,
outreels Fate's wheel, none beached, docked dry.'

'None can block clock, nor hock time-lock,
man's matrix spins, time tempers shock,
dawn turns to dusk when husk's white shock
of hair to heir's left when ties lie.'

'All things Love conquers, victory
of life sublime, eternity
is hyphen syphon, stargate sea,
which all should sail.' said passer by.

'Upon Time's [s]wings, that base bass whore,
all face is surface phantom sped,
desire inspires, masks empty core.'
To passer by said Phantom sigh.

'Farewell! my welfare lies elsewhere,
and yet lies not, believes in fair
winds which Time's leaves for Life prepare.'
To phantom sigh said passer by.

'Your's is not pitch or toss to call,
for finger beckon none forestall,
must drop what seems their wherewithal
to answer summons.' Phantom's cry.

'That may seem so in this dimension
yet other dreams may add extension,
prorogue fell sentence, toxin mention.'
To phantom: 'Bye! ' said passer's sigh.

'Betimes by night c[l]ause rhymes with c[l]aw,
tocsin tolls deep, dark, dire dread,
worms bore, fire burns. In store crow's caw.
Life's reasons seize on, season's sped.

To others, therefore, bid adieu,
before sun dries dawn's dew dream's dead,
soul ferried by Charon's phantom crew,
noose ties, hope lies, time flies ahead.

Farewell to hope, to cheats' deceits,
to friendly tweets, to fears of foe,
to dawn delights, to nights moon greets,
all drowns, smiles, frowns, beneath time's flow.'