These old teeth
When ground
Will be dust again
And how happy I will be
To shuck off this old form and its aches and pains
Things done wrong already and for always wrong
It can’t forget, just recycle and chew on the
Old bones of pain
To move on to something new
But the mistakes will still belong to this little me
This flotsam
This bubble on the edge of a wave
Lose particulars but not consequences
I can live with that
No choice
If death is sleep then why live at all
If death is sleep there are no consequences
If death is sleep do what you want
If death were sleep
I’d be asleep
Imported Comments:
Laurel Wingfield
You’re a talented poet, Francis. You manage to put across sorrow, regret, weariness and the feeling of being small and lost, very well. There is a lot of feeling in this. I liked especially, the verse that began, ‘To shuck off this old form, and its aches and pains…’ and ‘But the mistakes will still belong to this little me/This flotsam/This bubble on the edge of a wave.’