At the Moment of Our Death

At the moment of our death
As we draw our final breath
Should we not project a fear
Of the prospect of not being here?

The moment that closes tight
The door of time, turns out the light
And orders man to conform
To the arrival of his perfect storm

Should not be an occasion of fright
Rather the end of a valiant fight
To make a mark upon this earth
That says this was a person of worth.

 

Where Are We When We Are Not?

Where are we when we are not?
Why right here in what we wrote
Can writing be death’s antidote?
Ah!  Tis good art that survives
Good art immortality gives
Through bad art no one lives
Write badly and burn in hell
Heaven’s for those who’ve written well
For most of us, only time will tell.

 

The End of the Poem

The end of the poem
As now we know it
Will mark the emergence
Of the true poet

Our poetic inheritance
That’s long been lost
Will then be restored
But at what cost?

Generations on earth
Have come – have  trod
Then taken their places
Beneath the sod

Not experiencing the
Beauty and the joys
Of the lyric poem and
Craft of verse it employs

The music, the magic
The heightened language
That in such a poem
Jumps off the page

All that was lost
Will again be found
Revealing a humanity
That’s truly profound.

 

Robert King is a retired lawyer and poet living in California.

Featured Image: “The Liberation of Saint Peter” by Gerard van Honthorst (1592-1656).

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2 Responses

  1. aa

    Those poems are interesing except a bit somber. They are well written with a tint of classic poetry. It tells well the poet’s personal taste of poetry and his aesthetic nastalgia that reminds us of those academic and serious poetry which has been submerged on and off but has well survived by itself under the lustre of the Diana’s beam, I believe. Hi, Buddy, could you write something brighter without gloom?

    Reply

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