Secret Confession Of An Offbeat Mind Poem by Aram Stefanian

You have been knocking loudly on Death's door:
He's either deaf or gone on a long vacation.
You peep at his eery realm thru a keyhole and ain't sure
If it's a flashback again or a shard of your imagination:
A graveyard with a familiar scent of dead flowers,
The mourning angels kneeling before mossy tombstones.
You, the mystery addict summon the occult powers
To blow life into an inanimate bunch of beloved bones.
And then you hear, ''There's nothing like eternal rest.
I got a vacancy for you to fill: you're gonna be my pard.
Don't freak out! Your death has turned out for the best.
Once a millenium you're allowed to dropp your love a postcard.''