As it was the reversal of birth
He wanted to die alone.
To close the eyes
without life staring back at him.
That would be too painful
eclipsing death itself.
He dragged the mirror from
the bathroom,
It lined the floor.
he was jesus with the cross
willing death.
Resting the mirror agaisnt
the chair of endless drunken
slumbers.
Positioned to face death.
With haste he opened all
four stuborn packets,
like a child with his favourite toy,
and washed them into his
oblivion, with fake Russian Vodka.
Then layed back,
dribbling cloudy spit,
Waiting, watching, willing death
as Death sat
watching, waiting willing him.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wow, I need a drink after that one, Vincent! Poetry should be effective and this certainly was. Hmmm....I need to go watch some Mel Brooks now. Good one.