a prayer for the dying/

Another relic from the reliquary; I’m guessing it dates to about 1995 based on the other dated poems found in the box next to it. As you can see, I wasn’t always prone to minimalism in poetry. Modest edits made, mostly in the nature of culling or slight modification to word order to get away from the flowery feel it had that made if feel stilted in places.

I’d point out some of the intentional symbolism, but I don’t believe in doing that with poetry.

restless, the wind's whisper
through autumn leaves
the hoarseness deafens

i am the stars 
i am the moon
i am flowing, silent, liquid

i am the turgid sickness

i drag my stiffened body
along our tangled life's skein
towards the calling --
my name whispered 
across the waves

the ninth wave,
from beyond that
white crowned crest
calling for to join
and i weep for
the restful release

© Michael Raven

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