To be afraid of death is bad luck to me, a fear
i expect no justice or mercy from. The fact that
my soul has twisted so much, i think the
roots are invading the darkness of light. The fact
that the earth can't even keep our tears warm
for very long. Now i do not think i will be thrown
to the bottom of Hell, bearing the odors of being
held in the world's vice: Remaining long enough
to look and read oblivion's face. I mean i hope at
least something will grow next to my grave, like
an immortelle or a branch of forsythia, and that
would be incredibly simple; Like heaven answering.
gregory collins
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/aged-each-time-i-go-looking/
