Time Of DeathA Poem by icelandicblue
We ignore it but it waits,
as the clock ticks and the hourglass pours, we continue feigning ignorance. I have seen this cold hand caress the young and old. Invitations are sent on occasion, scripted on fine paper, RSVPs are just futile redundancy. We know but we don't know - so we discount the chill that creeps up our spine hugging ourselves warm. But somewhere your name and mine are written, perhaps in those stars beloved by bards and lovers, and beneath them are stamped small numbers. Sometimes the numerals are too far away to see other times they sit by our bedside, close and waiting, I would rather not see mine, but leave it to the person who is charged with witnessing my last breath and scripting my official time of death. © 2014 icelandicblueReviews
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27 Reviews Added on January 1, 2014 Last Updated on January 1, 2014 AuthoricelandicblueBostonAboutI do not accept any new friend requests unless we have read and commented on each others poetry. No exceptions. I have enough homework as it is. I expect reciprocity in our exchanges. Read my work and.. more..Writing
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