Death: a Poet's Thoughts

Death is the calling of a childhood friend
or a neighbors father, chilling sound
of a flat rate pulse, and walking to a small
room with a Doctor looking at the floor.

I've seen death once, so close I could catch
the light I was following in my palm,
but the machine kept pumping
and the light turned to smiling faces
above me.

Lost my footing on the edge of the deep end
feeling water rise in my lungs as hairy legs
above snatched the back of my swim suit
and I screamed like a newborn once again.

Touching darkness at night while writing poetry
sipping coffee, cigarette burning as bloody nails
tapped a lonely desk of a middle aged bipolar nightmare-

(what I was known for at the time)

I've never wished to become a famous poet
for I write in my corner of the world to release-

but when I die for real this time,
I just want someone to open these up
and catch a glimpse of my soul

that is all.