Where Wild Things Go To Die. Poem by Bryan Sefton

Where Wild Things Go To Die.



If there is a stirring in the thickets
Do not peek and do not pry
The dangers greatest in the places
Where wild things go to die

Death takes itself to tenebrous quite
And strives for a quietus vein
So to disturb is to invite
The rage of incommensurate pain

So when the blue skies turn to shadow
And the roaring sun turn's quite and shy
Do not take yourself to places
Where wild things go to die

There is no justice to the mind
Of one who fought the world and won
To watch his fading strength decline
And senses a popping one by one

Who was a raging fire in action
To whome death was a nuisance fly
Now slinks dejected to dark places
Where wild things go to die

No regrets for what has gone
But a wish to make it more
No dreams of elysium
On some antediluvian shore

There's only new, there's only new
And this one must be alive to try
Not to crawl to darkened places
Where wild things go to die

Friday, June 12, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: death
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Bryan Sefton

Farnsworth near Bolton, England, UK
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