A Final Bow

Curtains close

One final act plays out

To an empty house

No encore

No applause

Alone you stand

A bony fist of rage



A pallid corpse

Begging for loose dirt

To cover your rotting stench

A faceless clown

With no one left

To heed your beck and call


Look inward my dear

At the soulless space

A Miasmic void

Survey the fetid wasteland

That we once tilled


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About Phil

Hi, my name is Phil. I’ve managed to escape the corporate world, rid myself of excess belongings, travel the country extensively in my old Winnebago, and find a new home on a beautiful barrier island in the Gulf of Mexico. I define myself as: a free spirit, a writer, a philosophical anarchist, a poet; a lover of nature, a lover of art, a protector of animals, as well as a devoted friend and partner
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2 Responses to A Final Bow

  1. Who were you thinking of when you wrote this Phil??! Haha!! I love it , another fantastic poem. The bony fist! Ha! I’ve got to up my game. You are inspiring me to get better at writing. Thank you! 😊

    Liked by 1 person

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