Old Mortality
She is always waiting there
to catch you as you fall,
the mother of existence,
the safe insurance at the end,
the final liberator
garanteeing total freedom,
old mortality, the certain harvester of all,
who by his mere existence
offers you the opportunity of life
to hover at your wildest,
no height and no distance being too severe,
no possibility being restricted;
that old death awaiting at the end
ensures you every liberty of life
within the only limit
that you must return to him
where he awaits you with a silent promise
or a half one – there's his only doubtfulness,
that he might launch you on another start.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
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Written on 2010-02-13 at 11:52
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