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)”
This is the shattering of the ego.
Lost to death.
Wonderful words! Lots of emotion. 🙂
Thank you, Terveen! Lately, I’ve been adapting poems from random journal entries.
That’s great. They do have a personal touch. 🙂