Things fall apart

This mourning moon comes out too soon
This unrest rids me of the zest for living
My insides squirm towards a common grief
An inside loneliness that strips me apart.
My body is dying, sentenced to death.
I know: despite this cavalier attitude, that I owe you 
So much, the clouds are so vast and we are so small.
Yet I must prepare, for when I am not here. not there
Things do not go my way: sepsis, cancer
Grab at my life. I do not have the  time for long words
I seek to connect with Sylvia's jade horse under water
Such transparent seizings trouble me more
So many things at my fingertips do not stick.
Anyway, all  things fall apart, in this portico of time.

Blurry shadow and silhouette of people walking on the city street Stock  Photo - Alamy


◄ The end of me

Non-woke rant ►


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John Marks

Wed 10th Mar 2021 22:41

Thank you, as ever, Keith for your incisive comments. A portico is a porch leading to the entrance of a building, or extended as a colonnade, with a roof structure over a walkway. So this is a metaphor for our journey towards the death that patiently awaits us all. By recognising that we all fall apart, maybe we will be less afraid of death and more prepared for judgement. John

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keith jeffries

Wed 10th Mar 2021 21:50

The imminence of death seems to prompt people to have things in order for their eventual moment of departure. I often wonder about this. Is it to make death less of a burden for those left behind or a means of rehearsing for one's departure? I often become consumed with thoughts of the time I shall die, whether I shall be alone or with a loved one. What will precede this exit from life. Your poem dwells on this. Perhaps I am drawn to it by virtue of being in a similar situation. The last line I find puzzling.

I shall re read this a few times
Thank you for it

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