lives must end in sharpened phrases
so I will write them for the funeral
another borrowed life, a death
I see the poison tearful waters
so it seems that all of life
is a funerary collection of loss
lost souls departed now
broken promises, faded hope
so bitterness is unrelieved
the final hemlock builds
like heavy metal in the gut
to be the only cause of death
yet imagination does remain
like blackest water, deep, slow
reflecting all of human pain
flowing quietly like passing time
I was a child when I pulled aside
the cistern cover to reveal
deep in the wellspring, dark
gazing back at me, myself
and that prepared me for the job
I threw a fist of dirt into the grave
and took my shovel to the task
to hide the loss and earn my way
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
We must enjoy our going hence even as our coming hither. Ripeness is all! Nice poem!
Glad you liked it. I would use the word accept, not enjoy. Life is filled with loss. Death is the final loss and so in some ways is a release.