mortality’s short, sweet kiss…

A free-form verse, from a young soul trapped in an aging body. Prompted by the anguish and encouragement of some exceptionally special people on Twitter.
Forgive the raw nature, perhaps I’ll “clean” it up.  Perhaps, I’ll not. {I did, and will likely do again.}

Mortality’s short, sweet kiss…

Morrow comes, heralding new dawn,
upon that day, will joy be born.
Patiently, must we wait,
We’ll know the time, won’t hesitate.
With both hands spread open wide,
We slow our fall, down terror’s slide.
An angel, trapped in mortal form,
filled, with anger, and disdain,
Though silenced is her voice,
her soul, untamed, remains.
Into deepest dark of night,
she turns her ever seeking eye,
and there, upon sunrise’s glow,
her hope, as a planted seed, doth sow.
Not coin, nor gold,
will purchase passage from this mortal realm,
into eternities, untold.
For the trip to there,
the price is set… in anguish.
Do all you can, while trapped here.
Secure… your own immortal soul.
Summer’s heat, through winter’s cold
An endless cycle, for the bold.
Set your weary feet,
Upon the path,
toward the final goal…
Escape… for each immortal soul.
From four corners,
east, and west,
the titans of this world contest.
North, and south,
the winds do blow,
freezing rain, before the snow
that chills… my immortal soul.
Though our fragile bodies,
the titans hold in thrall,
our souls, escape their clammy grasp.
Till, finally… we turn.
Behold, the Asp.
Our demise, through venom’s fang?
Or our escape, to destiny,
as ageless legends sang?
Through that path, so filled with pain,
must we venture, once again,
for at its end, does lie… our gain.
Into cold, slit eyes we stare,
the Asp, its fangs, doth turn, and bare.
Its promise?
With us, Eternity to share.
Upon those ivory tips,
so sharp,
do form two drops, two drips,
two promises… held true.
My soul’s release… from me, to you.
Into these gleaming gems,
we cast our eye.
Behold, our fate,
to do… and die.
Into venom we turn, and dive.
Within their pain, we won’t survive.
They promise us release…
and bliss…
our freedom…
from mortality’s short, sweet kiss.

That poem is not an exhortation to death. Hold true to yourself, until time comes for each of us to escape the shackles of mortality.

About C.G.Ayling

Musing misuser of words, lover of lyrical literature, author, occasional contrary thoughts. An honorable man’s name, in memoriam.
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6 Responses to mortality’s short, sweet kiss…

  1. John Holland says:

    I saw your site on your twitter profile and thought I’d drop by for a visit.

    Very impressive! I wish you good luck and great success.

    John Holland

    Poetry Sans Frontieres
    Building bridges with words.

    http://poetrysansfrontieres dot weebly dot com/

    • C.G.Ayling says:

      I am in complete agreement with you, John. Indeed, I would extend your sentiment to include all communication – after all, though we are free to speak we have no power to make individuals listen. Governments should not make such choices for people.
      I’m adamantly opposed to Censorship, the reason above being just one of many.

  2. love the opening of this poem and the idea of trying to slow our fall down terror’s side. I personally feel no terror at the idea but I understand why many would. Nor do I see this life as a shackle. I see it rather as a promise. And we must keep it ‘well’. Thanks for giving me the occasion to remind myself of this. I look forward to reading more of your work.

    • C.G.Ayling says:

      Thank you, I appreciate the comment. The poem reflects inner conflict and the turmoil of the tragic world in which we live. We live in times that should be of plenty, yet for many are not. ~ Charles

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