Tiny Potatoes

 
The first time I met the muse  
we slept together for a week
we didn't eat, sleep, or bathe  
 
I didn't realize I was dying  
in his bed until someone said  
'Hey! You're dying in his bed'  
 
The decision was one I'd regret
With age, but was obligated    
to the ordinary life instead
 
There are times in all our lives
the past will return repentant  
a prodigal child of confession
 
Wonders how old they would be
in some other life had they chosen
death by Musery and Poetic Verse  
 
Absolves themselves of ignorance
and a blasphemous lack of belief
in the provision of another chance  
 
Revels in after light of forgiveness  
Bronzed in the glow of ambiance  
Until the power Source is severed
 
Passion's grasp becomes alien
our hearts unrecognizable within
the dried emptiness of separation  
 
All that’s prophesied in aftermath
are two Harvest Moons of potatoes  
(or whatever is sown by our hands)  
 
Yet it's the greatest of Love’s gifts
Happiness no one ever dare expect  
Death by Musery and Poetic Verse.  
~