Poem (it’s what I do)

The Last Words

You think the worst night of your
life was bad you’ll possibly get through
this one I’m not certain I will.

The one with the death of a parent
or two the mewing of a cat dying
in your arms the darkest night of

all might be your own black soul
smudging your present existence. All
the dread and the shredding of spirit

has come down upon me now. And
not for the first time. We grasp at
something we have given trust to;

the thing we inscribe with the words
of our being. The magic words, the
first words we heard. The last words.

© Red Celt, 2015

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