31/10/2025
SUPERNOVA
I have yet to be touched by death
Though at my back I've felt his cold breath.
Some days, I see him waving, flying by
Something oddly kind and warm in his eye.
And if he would hear, I would ask,
May I grab hold of your shadow cloak?
Could you lay low this tired oak?
So the raven may say in quiet croak,
"Gone, another humourless soul
That didn't get the grand joke".
And if he would indulge me more, I'd say
Lay me next to a fallen brother, a dying star.
In the great nothing, somewhere far.
No tombstone, no name there,
To tell the good world, where.
And none would ever dream
My grave to be a supernova’s flare.