One
Breath Away
I
felt it the other day,
that
I’m only one breath
away
from dying contentedly;
but
I could not stop thinking
of an
iconic writer whose
last
breath left him bereft of
meaning—
“For life’s a shabby
subterfuge.
/And death is real,
and
dark, and huge.”
He had
enough
faith to believe; but his
celebrated
life belied his faith:
in
his heart he harbored the
antinomian
lie that raped his
soul,
as he had raped life
with
his writing.
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