like a gentleman deceased twisting on a rope
a vortex of fates his eulogy speaks at his interment only and before that as he is cut down in the prime
as dignified as death is quiet in a casket
but all souls are deaf
sightless inaudible the dead man grasps a walking cane carved out rough like a crucifix
yet he will not go gentle
all his senses are gone no sight no smell no touch no sound a primitive design of his maker
discarded as an experiment in death not life
as an orphan deprived of his mother’s warm liquid envelope is expelled
quoth Andrew Marvell
rough through the iron gates of life
they say all words are borrowed from the past
Flynnpoetry 