Death’s Escort

 

 

 

Death’s Escort

 

I  know that life is very short

And most of it is death’s escort

And the joy that you report

Will very suddenly abort

 

The pot-holed road will give you jolts

The jalopied car breaks, revolts

The wheels run off like brash young colts

The beaten cart just summersaults

 

The mechanics are on holiday

The medics in their white display

And glaring knives in fine array

Will mold and shape you just like clay

 

The alcohol will burn with joy

But the seething water won’t destroy

Microbes as they sneak, deploy

Throughout your whole house of Troy

 

The bandages will bind you tight

And shut-out light like blackest night

Staunch not blood but breathing’s fight

You beg for air contrite, polite

 

And soon your mummied for a tomb

Helpless as in Mother’s womb

The death and doom are in full bloom

Smell the sweet, palsied perfume

 

Copyright, David Gottfried, 2006

 

Advertisements


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s