Poem 341 – Incertita Horci

Incertita Horci

The hour of death is uncertain

This second could be my last, the black ink of my pen
Slide off the page, leaving this poem half-done,
A mistake in the universe, never to be undone,
Though all the other ages might pass by.
None other can complete my work, for then it’s no longer mine,
But I might never finish it either, for I know all men must die,
And the unkind universe has not shared with me my time –
Is it now? Or  now? Or never? Or now? Or-


Dear readers,

This week will see the conclusion of the Tempus Fugit collection on Friday. Today’s quote is, I think, my favourite of all the ones I used.

Kind regards,

The Hapless Neo-Romantic

Tell us what you thought, or if to you these words are naught.

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