State Of My Delivery Poem by Leaking Pen

State Of My Delivery



I am but one breath
Removed from death
I feel all my shivery
State of my delivery
********
Once I belonged to a generation
Whose sunset hovered around fifty
I am on my trip to the next station
Sixty is now the new fifty.

What have I done with this surplus?
A gift of extra living given to me
Have I built the strongest fortress?
In a world that imprisons the free.

I have but this one means
My pen to build letters to shield
The destitute with lost keys
And cultivate passion’s fertile field.

Who decides each station stop in life?
Is this a random selection at play?
To be rich or poor, whose purpose knife
The hunter’s, or pulled from fallen prey?

One day I’ll be gone like most candles
Whose wicks lasted for a short while?
Which light? Which path? Which sandals
Mark forever the grounds with my style?

Was it a style to be remembered by?
Voice of the poor and the downtrodden
Or have I piled up golden nuggets sky high
To be squandered and made me feel rotten.

Repeat: ashes to ashes and dust to dust
We all one day seed the grounds of death.
No monument can redeem the unjust, just!
Death will not erase a scandalous breath.

Forgive me for protesting with my rhyme
This anger within eases my nagging pain.
Is this my last final stop, is this the time
To nail shut the last thought from my brain?

January 27th 2014
Copyright Leaking Pen 2014

Tuesday, September 29, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: philosophical
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Leaking Pen

Leaking Pen

Wellington, New Zealand
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