Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Death | In Passing

I come with a foot in the grave,
Limping down some broad way,
A scraping, dragging, noisome reek,
“It’s just the wind.” I say.
They hurry on.

I smile – and no one  believes it!
‘It’s sinister – a grin!’
My canines flash ferociously,
“A closer walk with thee?” I say.
They look  away,
And hurry on.

My hand is gentle – cold and waxy,
A rasping on your shoulder blade,
Like restless leaves – or rotting silk,
“Share this cup with me?” I say.
They shudder,
And hurry on.

I pass politely – not  breathing,
‘They cannot hear me now.’
Footprints mark my leaving,
A long, uneven line.
That long exhalation follows – no stranger -
I hurry on.

“And I am not frightened of dying. Any time will do, I don’t mind. Why should I be frightened of dying? There’s no reason for it – you’ve got to go sometime.”
“I never said I was frightened of dying.” — Pink Floyd, The Great Gig in the Sky


  1. There it Is.
    Read it again and again and notice how the words and meanings will change and twist.

    1. Maybe later Will. I just woke up. lol