The Death Of A Poet

Some how I don’t know how to begin;

What goes through my mind when facing my own

Death?

Now, being faced with a medical issue;

The Specialist called, time to take another look at my spotted lung.

I know where it came from, I know the Doctors that found it, took no action.

So right now I want to scream, I am scared,

Being a soldier in Vietnam, the taste and smell of Agent Orange, the choking, our bandanas were what we had to stifle the taste and smell, the choking that couldn’t stifle your cough!

Is it my time to deal with dying because of it?

I don’t want treatments, I am to tired of fighting to live:

I just want drugs, to stay high, to let go of my mind that remembers,

I am ready,

Many years ago burial at sea was a beautiful thing,

They place your shroud bodies in their wooden boat; set it on fire and pushed it into the sea:

Yeah,

That’s what I want!!!