Out for the count

 

I'm not a king,

not a Prince nor regal,

we all should be equal.

So take your hands off me,

stop thinking

anyone is above.

We are all on this path,

so let's try love.

 

You zipped me up in a body bag

with a blank name tag

attached.

A bit soon to assume

I had been dispatched.

Was just closing my eyes you buffoon.

A tad premature,

I was merely sleeping,

I assure.

 

You thought I was

out for the count

and yeah,

there have been times

where the pressure

has begun to mount,

but it's way too early

to write me off,

I've come back

from worse.

This is nothing

but a setback,

these bones

may be creaking,

the skin I wear

starting to crack.

My patience wearing thin

and my hairline may be receding,

but I'm still standing,

No zimmer frame needed.

No coffin required,

nor hole that needs digging

but I'm glad you enquired.

 

I may be turning grey,

but inside I'm still bursting

with colour,

so you may as well let me be,

You don't need to

tap your scythe

so merrily

next to me.

I'm not ready

to be insect food,

and the way

you keep following me

is a little rude.

So please

leave me be,

I don't need

your deathly interlude.

 

 

 

 

Thanks for reading

Please take a look at my new collection "Torn Pages"

100+ all new poems not shared here before.

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Peace, Love and Poetry 

 

Kyle