Death creeps closer, Yet, he knows it not. His friends weep, His mother bleeds tears, Not now, not now. He is in a dream of Unknown glory And glitter, While reality is Fading fast away. Those who knew His living fire are Defeated by its Quenching end for dead is dead
Well done, RD. Poignant -- you hit the nail on the head. I think it is rightfully immoral to keep a person alive after brain function has stopped -- funny: we wouldn't do that to an animal. We are so driven by the need to see someone alive even though life function has ceased. Human love can be so selfish. Thanks for writing this.
What causes America's mainstream media to fear and try to destroy a group of artists and their work? What happens when such a creative movement grows in strength and threatens media's bottom line? Why would extremists find it necessary to take acti
I Made My Boy Out of Poetry is a powerful literary vision of rare scope, beauty and emotional intensity composed of stories and poems that flow in and out of each other like the most lucid and articulate of dreams. These are portraits and studies of
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Regis
Salient and oh so relevant. Great work!
Peace in all things,
B
Carmen :-)
Sandie May Angel a.k.a. Sandie Angel :o)