I am a paling star to be washed out
In the dazzling brightness of the arriving dawn
A calendar that ran out of time
A broken guitar with strings loose

I will soon exit out of life
Like a man hardly anyone knew existed
And only very few would miss

As I look back to the prime days
I feel years have flown away in a flurry
Like scraps of paper whirling in the gale
A dense fog crawls up into my eyes
The verdant vistas and smiling faces
Have discoloured like weather worn paintings
The violet shadows of red rocks
Form a dark cave within me
Nothing subsists in the dells n’ hollows
Of my memory
I wilt under Age’s burning breath
And wither under its deadly blight
Now I drift... a rudderless vessel
Through unknown waters

Waiting at the Departure Lounge
I now have only one prayer;

Don’t let me scorn and disdain the young
Whose sky is wider and dreams endless
Who walk with nimble feet and sure steps
To conquer the world that has left me a scrap!

I don't want to die.
Okay, let me rephrase that.
I mean I don't want a typical death.
I want it to be unforgettable.
I don't want to die any of the ways
That have already been used.
Car accidents.
Burning.
Health problems.
******.
Suicide.
OD
And much more.
You see, all these ways of death
include something else:
Statistics.
I don't want to be a statistic when I die.
I don't want the only remaining part of me
To be just a single number
Buried under millions more.
But I don't have a say in the matter,
Do I?
---
JMB

The east was drenched in the color of liquid gold,

The waters of the river were lapping against-
the edges of all the boats,

The sun and his soft beams,
had the coolness of the dawn,

And the toe of the river,
was tracing patterns under the rocky shoals of time,

But still, The coward has always been a beast of burden.