Death Speaks
Alone I stand
Pondering my arts
the fruits of my labors.
All is good and I lay down my brush.
But there is a voice,
a voice which sows its seeds
in the dark, in my mind.
And these seeds grow, bursting forth from the
loose soil of my thoughts as
doubtful nettles.
“Perhaps it is not enough”
“Could it be better?”
“You will never forgive yourself
if you forgot something.”
But I turn my back on his
exquisite voice,
those goading words and thorns.
For alone I stand, and his company
I do not yearn for.
“I have done the best I can,
and hope it is enough.
For, life I choose,
not your eternal rough.
And, in life, you must believe
you have done right,
or move on if you have not.”
(2013)
