Last Hours (a poem)

Can I surrender?
Or will I keep fighting egos?
Drink from the poison chalice?

Where is utter peace?
Forget the journey to enlightenment –
Surrender to base desires;

Flesh is more potent than spirit,
Holy Spirits eat my flesh
In inordinate, passionate fires –
The Mind of Christ bursts
With vicious images

I waste in the desert, alone,
wasteland of ineptness,
Seeing life for what it is –
An illusion grasping for power
Hungry for last hours,
Tribal dance of death.

(Photo: “Codes” Gray and Black abstract watercolor painting by Bruce Black 2020)

4 thoughts on “Last Hours (a poem)

  1. Terveen Gill August 12, 2021 / 9:46 am

    This is the shattering of the ego.
    Lost to death.
    Wonderful words! Lots of emotion. 🙂

    • Nick Pipitone August 12, 2021 / 9:54 am

      Thank you, Terveen! Lately, I’ve been adapting poems from random journal entries.

      • Terveen Gill August 12, 2021 / 11:50 am

        That’s great. They do have a personal touch. 🙂

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