JP Clark: A Finished Book Opened
He didn't leave at the middle of the senctence,
when there was fault in the middle of the star.
They say that death is peaceful, but the transition is troublesome;
Most lives are not pleasant but the bearers,
can't take their unbearable lives.
You left gently into that bad night,
where the aged finds rest from
their ravaged system, weakened self.
You didn't shed yourself of literary possessions,
the great poet who wrote his name on people's minds,
unlike many would prefer tombstone.
I hear a voice saying that I am going mad, when the legacy you left
are growing minds, where
your name has been carved.
You have become the story we share in place of your works,
Your literatures continue your abandoned works
when you prefer to close your earthly chapter.
Now we know that immortality doesn't mean
never to die;
You are like a soldier who conquered war in death, and
we can find you again,
whenever we open pages of your book.
We can find a man who just slipped
into another room, where you are.
You were touched, but
your name is like the Phoenix,
when the modern man makes love with blood.
(c) ODIMEGWU ONWUMERE
Oct. 14 2020.