All things must come to past,
all things must wither away,
like the sun that is born and dies,
at the end of every day.
From this meadow that once was stone,
covered in flowers that comes from dust,
and will soon to dust return,
I watch the Swiss Alpine dusk.
The snow will vanish too,
gleaming on the tips of the mountains,
turned to copper that bleeds gold,
and melts, rurns into stream, rivers and fountains.
(The mountains too are just movements of tiny pebbles as they push and shove
They too will be gone soon enough)
See now, the sun it stabs itself,
bleeding from the top of the peaks,
Les Diabloret turned to ocopper and gold and snow and blood,
all transformed to light, reflected on my sheets.
That is where I lie awaiting the end,
of my life that, like the mountain sides,
and that breath of wind now shaking the flowers into dust,
must one day bleed, melt and arise in other skies.
Author notes
Sorry, this poem is only 22 lines long, but I feel that if I was to add any nore it would just becone a bit banal (I hate waffling in poetry!)
I wish the most beautiful and peaceful death upon you friemd.
A contest entry
- Where I Want To Die by Tercil.
1750 points, ended April 19, 2008, 8 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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I get a very scary feeling when reading this piece. The thought of dying in a place like this frightens me... I know many love this type of scenery, but not me and not when I'm dying especially, but if it works for you, I say go for it!!!! The poem itself is a good one....
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"All thing must come to past", is, I believe, a thought I wouldn't relish, but the fear factor needs sympathy when a one way ticket is obtained. The rocky features are too rugged to anticipate, but I can imagine a flat rig to look up to the sky to. A cool and vacant feel seems very obvious.
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