Bequest (Poetry)

Who would keep this youthless corpse
I’ll gladly leave behind
or sweep up words like fallen leaves
long-fluttered from my mind?

Once I’ve emerged in spirit form
I shall not linger here
but gather up my cosmic dust
and quietly disappear

There must be kinder worlds than this
for poets and for kings
a realm that’s free of plague and war
and pointless suffering

This life has joys that cannot last
time snatches them away
and love may battle brave and true
but loses on the day

The poet flourishes his pen
the king unsheathes his sword
but nothing can undo the death
of faithful hound or lord

While Pity weeps Age eats away
the flesh from each frail bone
I’ll leave my worthless corpse along
with words I failed to own