Last Poem Poem by David McLansky
Last Poem
I am dying every minute
My soul is slipping away
I cannot stop life’s progression
I cannot halt my own decay;
My poetry lays in cartons
Stacked in boxes in my room
My history of failed loving
Dusty echoes of my doom;
My muscles grow more rigid
Self conscious of the pain
I fear the loss of movement
I’ve who moved in vain
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Topic(s) of this poem: history,loss,muscles
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8/24/2026 10:11:27 AM # rel_20260813T193622Z_3aad590
take heart, poet, your poems would not be in vain for the posterity. You strike a sad note here, David.