My Last Journey

 

 

Counting backwards now

years pass like cars on a turnpike

dark cold mountain passes

firefly glow of cigarettes

so many trips of unresolved guilt.

I danced with denial, no taste in it,

no taste for dark muck of graveyards,

cobwebs choking out my memories.

Lungs gulp for freedom from relevance

soon they will own me and win

inevitable metamorphosis

to dust, ashes, praising the crematorium’s cleansing fire.