Perched On The Cusp of my demise.

 

Perched on the cusp of my demise??!!

 

Perched on the cusp
of what might be
my possible demise,
as fingers of impermanence
wrap tight around my neck.

Left with a lingering cough,
and a very long sore throat,
it is now when rectangles,
take on new meanings,
dark and foreboding,
they all bear grave context.

One can actually hear
the pounding pulse
in their right ear,
but swallowing hard
reminds them they've been strepped,
of having a sure chance
at life continued.

The reaper comes to all
and claims his debt.

One lives much fuller life
when death rears it's shadowed hook,
wine drinking and lovemaking
are astounding,
knowing it might
just be your last time.

Perhaps all those
who die in tragic mishaps,
are spared the pondering
that becomes a prisoner,
inside the brain cells
of a soul whose dying,
that hounds them to live hard.

The hour feels near.
though it's only been a week
now that's gone past me,
with nagging devils
poking at my brains.

Two months is when they say
one might need an x-ray,
but a clearer view might
help me more today.

There are viruses galore
on every object,
which felled so many
thousands to the plague,
perhaps some flailing germ
wracked soul hacked onto me,
adding me to that
long list of grief.

A visit to the doctor
would bring wisdom,
but also scares me
far beyond belief.

Is it better to not know
if you are fading,
just second guess fates hand
and dance on air,
enjoying every moment
as the finest,
and doing other things
devil-may-care.

I guess in a few months
it will be posted,
when I'm published in
that great book known as life,
but by then I'll be in heaven,
or hell roasted,
and this poem will be
part of my final works.

If sometime soon
in April I am writing,
as prolific as I have
through this last week,
then pray some other germs
will come and find me,
cause god it feels so good
when muses speak.

 

 

 

©-MFB III

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