FOR DEATH IS INVINCIBLE

 Perhaps,

when you read these

words, these sentences,

this poem weaved out of them,

I will be dead and gone,

and only my words,

only my sentences,

only my poem

will speak to you.

It matters not.

My poem,

as mortal as myself,

set to die a death

as total as my own,

will speak to you,

you will speak to it,

and a bridge

will reach from this

moment of writing

to the moment

of reading.

A wormhole of words

through time.

It won't conquer death,

for death is invincible,

yet it will push back

death's triumph

for the moment

of reading,

will hid a fragment

of the sentences

in your mind,

refugee from my

act of writing.

It will die

when you cease

to be,

it will be dead and gone

when your mind

is with mine

in the cool dust.

For death

is invincible.

21.03.2021