A POET'S MOMENTARY THOUGHTS

 

I see bodies popping and peppering the streets

And thinking, I ought to be packed in readiness,

Places I could run to, my commune homes of poets,

As for tickets, I have one stating, going nowhere

 

In my packed bag is my obituary already crafted,

On my lips are the ever-continued constant prayers

That whenever I lay me down to sleep, I forever pray

Lord, my soul, take; for I could die before the break of day

 

All around us the enemies have weapons mounted and locked

In the skies, the vulture wander, rising and dipping; expectant

And daily the toll rises. I envy the dead; they are the lucky ones

Their wait settled; now nestle with He who eternally loves them

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