How sweet my last long breath will be
before the Angel comes for me.
That deep, cool inhaling
in my lungs.
The pause.
The holding on.
Then a last warm exhaling
in my chest.
So to the letting go
of all I know
and the final failing of the flesh,
the ceasing of the beating of the heart.
And then?
And then,
perhaps,
a start?
But what of me?
What will I be?
Will I be?
Only this remains
for me
to see.
Poems by Ken 