Almost Poetic

Time as the setting sun

We are going to tell these survival stories on our deathbeds,

and the victory will be in our parting with breathing 

We are going to heave out metaphors from worn out lungs,

and on that day, we’ll truly know what it means to be alive

Not this notion of fear, this notion of tomorrow beheld with arthritic eyes

We shall speak of survival in a language only the dead speak,

while the living look on and marvel how we’ve called ourselves alive all this time


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s