Wednesday | November 02, 2005

2 November 2005

I stand at the edge of life

As Death massages my back

Easing the weariness out of shoulders

Grown tired in the toil of existence;

Sapped of strength by feats

Forever unaccomplished, but forever tried.


I kneel at the edge of life

As Death lends a hand and a spade

To my fingers, digging toward a fair depth

For quiet rest in ears that ever have heard

The diminished harmonies

Of Failure's sweetest dirge.


I lay at the edge of life.

Posted by brianwarshaw at 16:49:19 | Permanent Link | Comments (2) |
Comments
1 - Interesting piece.
I think I'll chew on it a while.
Funny, Seamus Heaney poem comes back to me, "Digging" from Death of a Naturalist (collection title)

I feel similar to your voice sometimes. But not so much death massaging me...but defeat instead.

Keep it up Mugs...and remember always

POLE! (Comment this)

Written by: Jacob C. Kelly at 2005/11/04 - 21:13:29
2 - Mugs this is awesome.I have felt this way many many a time and for many a year.You are brilliant.
Pole forever! (Comment this)

Written by: Momma Caruso at 2005/11/17 - 16:46:19
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