Surfing Non-Existence Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Tomes of history calling names of enrollees as they depart from
earthly lives with no voice left to speak what is in their hearts.

Vineyards of ripened fruit, hanging in bunches with expectations
of life's goodness and richness of loving hearts in elixirs of
odorific scents.

Reverberating edges of ever closer ocean tides, surfing along
lines of non-existence, measuring times of tomorrow's length in
death's embrace.