Poetry: Personal Afterlife


Okay. So I took a stab at poetry, once. A majority of it was terrible. Some, not so terrible. Here is one that’s decent:

Personal Afterlife

by Sean C. Wright-Neeley

In my heaven,

I would stay seven

for evermore.

And stroll a beach of chocolate shore.

Red butterflies fill skies, and swoop & dip,

As a don a skirt of roses on my hip.

There would be no dirt, no hurt, no tears, no fears.

No need for wishing.

Only my dishing

up French fries for breakfast while smiling up a rainbow;

one that’s not from a rude rain…

Sunflowers float around, too, sans stems.

How can something look so beautiful when decapitated?

Floral fumes never decrease or cease; no frowns to crease the face.

No cholesterol. No aerosol. No harps or wings.

Just colorful, busy things.

An eternal kindergarten for a woman on the edge of 50.

Joy, like finding…

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