by Nick Gisburne
No cure. No mix of medicine. No chance.
I read the simple verdict through my tears,
But in the mist, the morning’s chill, I dance,
To celebrate the sum of all my years.
Existence. Such a miracle was mine.
Its fast-approaching absence makes it clear
My life was not a gift from God, divine;
My death is not a tragedy to fear.
I spend my final moments in the park.
The children and the trees begin to blur,
And, as my soul surrenders to the dark,
I picture you, and everything we were.
We will not share the sun, my love, and yet
Eternity remembers that we met.
