Final Repose Poem by Ajit Das
Final Repose
Are we to drop like dead, old leaves
to be blown away by the whirling wind
spreading a hazy veil on the horizon?
The terminus shrouds the void beyond.
The last revival, a fresh gusto of breath
propel us to achieve the end in repose.
Monday, March 14, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: poems
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4/25/2024 5:23:56 AM # 1.0.0.1119
