I saw a cortege while traveling one day. The coffin was small and black.....and it got me thinking....
With hardly any air at all,
And so little space to move in.
I wonder how if feels,
To have your heartbeat stop,
When your fingers are so cold they become stiff,
And all but you cast a sad glance,
Some even tears they let lose,
Though once upon a time they cared less about you.
I guess life is not always grand;
In fact the blacks and blues fill more empty spaces
Than the yellows and the reds.
But how it all ends depends on me....
Because once it is my turn to enter the black box,
I do not want to struggle, Nay!
I do not want to put a fight,
To turn back just one more time,
To gaze at those I love and wish for just one more chance.
And finish off what I ought to have done.
When I enter the black box,
I do not want to be shoved in by Angel Michael.
Instead, I want to gingerly step in,
In my beautiful black gown,
The one with organza and trimmings of chiffon and taffeta.
(Perhaps a little make-up too)
Fit myself in smug,
Fold my hands on my breast,
As I give the azure sky one last look,
Happy that I had completed what I was to do;
Finished the race clean,
And no regrets by my side.
Because I keep on counting and the day has not yet arrived,
This chance I have I will not waste,
For I do not want my conscience to recall to my soul,
Once I have entered the black box.
So I will not spare the perfume,
Neither will I refuse any dance as long as I am asked.
I will eat all the chocolate and cream,
And never worry that I may grow fat!
I will say what is in my head....
I will watch the birds make their nests,
I will read all the poems and books that I can.
I will allow myself to madly fall in love,
And never let the fear of being hurt guide my path again.
I will wear my stilettos high and never waver,
I will laugh when I need to, and cry when I must
But I must never ever forget,
I do not have forever to make up my mind;
The clock is at a fast tick-tock pace,
And I am not sure if I am next.
But before I enter the black box,
To my own soul I make this solemn promise,
I will live today as if it was my last.
Poetry by she
Read 543 times
Written on 2007-05-28 at 15:29
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The Little Black Box
I wonder how it feels in the small confine,With hardly any air at all,
And so little space to move in.
I wonder how if feels,
To have your heartbeat stop,
When your fingers are so cold they become stiff,
And all but you cast a sad glance,
Some even tears they let lose,
Though once upon a time they cared less about you.
I guess life is not always grand;
In fact the blacks and blues fill more empty spaces
Than the yellows and the reds.
But how it all ends depends on me....
Because once it is my turn to enter the black box,
I do not want to struggle, Nay!
I do not want to put a fight,
To turn back just one more time,
To gaze at those I love and wish for just one more chance.
And finish off what I ought to have done.
When I enter the black box,
I do not want to be shoved in by Angel Michael.
Instead, I want to gingerly step in,
In my beautiful black gown,
The one with organza and trimmings of chiffon and taffeta.
(Perhaps a little make-up too)
Fit myself in smug,
Fold my hands on my breast,
As I give the azure sky one last look,
Happy that I had completed what I was to do;
Finished the race clean,
And no regrets by my side.
Because I keep on counting and the day has not yet arrived,
This chance I have I will not waste,
For I do not want my conscience to recall to my soul,
Once I have entered the black box.
So I will not spare the perfume,
Neither will I refuse any dance as long as I am asked.
I will eat all the chocolate and cream,
And never worry that I may grow fat!
I will say what is in my head....
I will watch the birds make their nests,
I will read all the poems and books that I can.
I will allow myself to madly fall in love,
And never let the fear of being hurt guide my path again.
I will wear my stilettos high and never waver,
I will laugh when I need to, and cry when I must
But I must never ever forget,
I do not have forever to make up my mind;
The clock is at a fast tick-tock pace,
And I am not sure if I am next.
But before I enter the black box,
To my own soul I make this solemn promise,
I will live today as if it was my last.
Poetry by she
Read 543 times
Written on 2007-05-28 at 15:29
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text| Texts |
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