NOT THAT BAD Poem by Rogi Wieg

I've learned: dying of life is
not that bad. Old age makes
one little breaker too many and there you
float with eyes closed,

after a whole life. Then there's a missing
of husband, wife and child in you,
but oh, that's practical, or metaphysics, or
even romantically gruesome. So I'll leave

this aspect undiscussed: one stops moving alone
after all, sailor. In the earth an angel
may open its wings and make
a deep-blue sea with june sunlight.

We live our life, we eat our bread, and
empty time from a bottle
we can't see through. We drink till we
forget all about the lead in our feet.