Poems and Poetry

Epitaph | A Poem by Ian Fletcher

Though every death throughout history
is the cause of my morbid celebration
confirming the possession of this thing
called life as I stand upon the mountain
of the deceased thankful that I survive
in the daylight while they are doomed
to slumber in their everlasting night
and though blood runs through the veins
of the hand that inscribes these verses
I am yet aware my words will outlast me
promising neither reprieve nor immortality
so you, dear reader, may have the last laugh
when these lines have become my epitaph.

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