On Death

I wish to move t'ward death
As if towards a restful dream;
A life spent so fiercely that it
Requires some pause to sleep.
I have never held memory
Of any of my dreams, for
Fear of what such rememberings
Could bring to this, a fragile, fractal mind,
Brought to brink by all our nightly terrors.
Each dream a cut to black
They seemed,
To the one,
Like each
A little death.
Such peace to be had
In a world
Where worth
Is absent worth.

 
Written by Mr Woods on 18/01/19
© 2019 Anthony Woods

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life, Death, Dreams, fear, dream, sleep, Peace, memory

 
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Christopher Russon 04/05/19

 

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