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Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #765181
The spectre of an old man in his last moments

As I lie on death bed,
Yearning to get some peace,
What sounds do I hear,
What images are these

That come from nowhere,
Lurking for a moment
But causing in my heart
Highly scathing torment

As if in opera
Of death, a black phantom,
In his macabre dance,
Holding me to ransom,

Asks me with a grin why,
At all, I want to live?
And what, all through my life,
To others did I give?

For answer I fumble
And he grins all the more.
“You have only taken,
Not given, I am sure.

You are a parasite,
You have no right to live.
Did not Jesus tell you
Out of two coats to give

One to him who has none,
And feed who is hungry?
By not obeying Lord,
You have made Him angry.

Come now your days are up,
I will take you to Lord.
As per your deed He will
Give His love or His sword.”

* Written in 6-6-6-6 format

* Written for a contest where the prompt was to build a poem around the two words— Opera and Phantom.

M C Gupta
14 October 2003

© Copyright 2003 Dr M C Gupta (mcgupta44 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/765181