Do not, young soul, take Death for granted.
He arrives on the porches, never empty handed.
Though breathing accelerates, and eyes turn slanted,
your heartbeat relents as the sickle swerves rampant.
Could phone calls be made to the parents this moment?
Or strolls in the sand with son's hand in yours, folded?
The refrigerator needs stocking, the melons are molded.
Soon wife will come home, procrastination will be scolded.
The pre-paid postage on six year-old greeting,
to thank your neighbors for warm Holiday meeting,
sits in the curio, alongside photos of breeding.
Scrapbook to be finished when grieving's completed.
A simple reckoning of earlobe to teacher,
might've turned vigilante into peaceful preacher.
Never a minute should pass without need to squeeze her.
Exhaling your last, death's deliverer, now receiver.
Author notes
probably not complete
A contest entry
- What is the meaning of life? by ecrivain01.
450 points, ended April 22, 2008, 9 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
Reading this over again ...
it seems to me that you've tried to squeeze too much into too few lines. The final stanza is rather weak compared to the rest of it, and this seems rather glib but it doesn't really seem to me to answer the question posed by the contest. Not that I'm saying it's a bad poem, but it doesn't really meet the requirements for THIS contest.
Good luck in future contests. -
Seems quite ...
accomplished to me.
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