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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2236235-And-When-Im-Dead
Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Death · #2236235
A poem about how things will go on without me to enjoy them.
And When I’m Dead

And when I’m dead,
the flamenco dancers
will still perform with passion
in the streets of Granada,
serpentine tuxedo cats
will run with abandon
down darkened corridors,
when it chooses, the rain
will fall from cloudless skies
on a bright, sunny day,
the mockingbird will sing
in the night
any song but his own,
the morning dew will collect
in a string of crystal baubles
on the spider’s web,
the words of Frost and Thomas
will wring response
from innocent hearts,
the sea will still hiss and suck
at empty beaches in the dawn,
white stones will blind in the light
when lifted from the whiskey water
of a mountain stream,
the hoarfrost will still make lace
upon the branches
of a frozen winter,
a lost metallic-effect credit card
will gleam like gold
from the blades of grass,
the Zulu deep miners
will still march to work
singing and stamping the beat
in the dust-laden air,
there’ll still be elections
and I still won’t vote in them.

There might be, however,
a corner of a foreign field
that is forever England
and I’ll still be dead.



Line Count: 40
Free Verse
For me
No Prompt.

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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2236235-And-When-Im-Dead