Today is not like every day before

I’ve struggled much more today

So much more than I expected

Called by your flat for our Sunday chat

To ensure you were not neglected.

 

Instead you lay still, stock still

In a strange and foreign bed

A silken sheeted haven

a cot made for the dead

 

You should be stirring up a storm

your words, a robust dissent

that turns convention on its head;

as death tries to make you relent.

 

Will you hear me midst the silence

that now subdues the sound?

calling life to question

will you live beyond the ground?

 

 

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