Posted in Life, Poetry, Prose

Could I Imagine

Could I imagine
sticks and stones
falling upon my head
ending the life, as I know it?
Would it be useful
imagining my last moments
my last breath, my eyes
considering the life that I’d lived
in the fading moments of my time?
Should I even entertain such thoughts
while the sun is shining, and the coffee
entices and warms my thoughts?

Could I imagine things to be otherwise?



My profile might reflect who I am, what I think and why I write what I do. My profile might just reveal the inner workings of a deranged mind, a helpless soul, and a self-destructive way of living. Don't worry. I'm OK. I've just lost sight of my little sister in the evening clouds....

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