Where There Is No Feasting

Breathe me,
while the moon's shadow
moves across our faces;
while the winds challenge time.
Breathe me,
before the sand runs out the glass,
and the clocks hands bind.
Breathe me,
while the flesh still wears us like its decoration;
Breathe me,
don't use up the hours on hesitation.

Breathe me; breathe us in on a single breath-
And feast fully now, because later comes death.

Breathe me; and we'll try to keep death at bay-
For there is no feasting in the grave, they say.

Published May 18, 2010 Write a comment
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Susan Jarvis
Words of wisdom from the melodious voice of a gifted poet. What better combination. :)
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