Imagine one last story book,
One more chance to read how we lived;
Die how we lived.
As time destroys everything around us,
Still the book stays calmly,
Carelessly, mounted on a single shelf.
Imagine the last chapter,
A monument of a marathon,
That hurts not to run;
That brings us nowhere.
The dying pages of an authors last hopes,
Put to paper by the very pen he died upon;
Lived upon, wrote upon.
Imagine one last sentence,
A dying wish, a pleading wish
Of peace and forgiveness.
For the world is dying all around,
And still the book stands.
Imagine one last word,
To die in the moonlight,
To reflect to the everglades,
And bring hope to a world,
That's dying all around us
Daniel Yetman
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/18-months-later/
