Behold—the sepulcher of my poetic soul…
The final resting place of breath in ink—
To shrine your life in verse, my only goal,
And with this final act—to nothingness I sink.
Like artisans who’ve sought eternal life,
I seek it not for self—but all for you,
To etch your peerless grace with heaven’s light;
Your timeless essence, here in words to prove—
Still ever ‘gainst oblivion to rage;
Yet I to fade, like all forgotten pens
That bled a magnum opus on a page—
Then drowned in ink, not to be seen again.
This rune was writ that my hand not obscure,
Or cast some shadow that might yet deter.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.