The Real Sting
I saw no shapes in the shadows as life passed into death
In recollections I find the strength to take my final breath
But I know that echoes of illusions give stories of their own
And the past of one’s life is the only thing that’s known.
Contours of life corrode slowly leaving memory cells unaware
Of the pain caused through life that left moral sense empty and bare
But the deceit in deception can never be really owned
And the wrongs of the past can never be condoned.
As the blackbird sings of memories to the phantoms of the dark
And there’s no more room on one’s body for another violent mark
So the comfort found in fantasy becomes the only place to survive
Because the real sting of death is only found when one’s alive.
© 2022 Daniel Kemp. All rights reserved