Final Song

Poem By Herbert Nehrlich

They called him Opa,
he was so....old.
He took l-dopa
and hoarded gold.
Behind each hedge
he saw a hider
it was his pledge
that a lone rider
from evil places
with devil's claws
was counting paces
avoiding flaws
so during sunrise
he flipped completely
this ain't no fun, guys
he folded neatly
and stretched supinely
he stopped his breath
then went divinely
to his own death.
You see the shock did
that morning sun
and like a mock kid
on his last run
he was the victim
of his own mind
which really tricked him
and fate was blind.
The final plea
which made him fail
was, on a tree
a nightingale.

Comments about Final Song

Pradeep, you are not only perceptive but a scholar and a poet in addition to being a gentleman. What an asset you are to this site! And I like your sense of humour and your mind, how it works and its considerable substance. It shows in all your poems. Thank you for being here and for reading my stuff. Herbert
I am reading a lot into this, Herbert.A suicide of an insane, due to the fear of devil/god.Or perhaps, story of someone who dies with the hope of reaching heaven..A very well concealed poem.Well written.Thank you.


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