The memories draw near
It’s become clear
What I truly need to fear
I stand at the grave
Quite frankly, I don’t know how to behave
It’s the funeral of myself; I am dead
At least I know that in my head
I chuckle lightly inside
Why should I hide?
The breath of air running, a sigh of relief
While all my evil sobs in grief
Another victory is in the books
Upon myself, this task I took
The battle was gruesome
You win some, you lose some
But now I lift my face to the skii
By and by, don’t ask why, deep inside I sigh
It wasn’t a lie, one had to go; you, me, or my
And the answer always
Laid in the skii
Goodbye.
Author notes
by andywontdie. a bit of a strange one about death...enjoy.
A contest entry
- CONTEST: Memories of a funny death. by Barry Hodges.
400 points, ended February 11, 2008, 10 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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What is the "skii"? I have never heard of this. Is it some sort of skiing equipment or a slalom perhaps. What an amusing poem this was.
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