So. . . Here I am. . . Lying. . . Stuck in my grave.
But who I fell with appears to have left.
I guess strong ambitions can’t always save.
They leave you forsaken, reeking of death.
Ironic, it’s the eve of Halloween
And it’s the hour I realize I’m dead.
A pumpkin spice latte, so unforeseen,
would be the last supper before my bed.
I have dark humor to jeer at myself.
But. . . it stings. . . to be abandoned by love.
It’s one thing to lose your health. . . or your wealth.
But you left me. . . no reason. . . no motive. . .
But I remember, once what I have read.
That Jesus can bring back to life the dead.
© Jonathan Pines and WritingWithStrangers, 2019, except where noted otherwise. All rights reserved.