Thursday, May 21, 2009

The Last Taste Of Orange

I could have died last week.
I could have smelt my last burnt toast,
tasted my last orange. I could have.
Before I lost consciousness
I wondered if swallowing pills
would be the last thing I would do.
It was all over again, you see,
and I didn't care what happened next.

I wonder what a last night should feel like?
Just another stretch of darkness before the darkness,
or a slow, star-filled in-gathering
as time comes into its final alignment?
I remember staring at my feet sticking out
as I leant back against the door,
and watching the spilt bottle roll back and forth.
And hearing a train roar carelessly through the station.

10 August 2008

This poem won First Prize in the Poetry Section of the Blue Fringe Literature Awards for 2009.

2 comments:

  1. Congratulations Peter. Your words, as always, touch my soul.

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  2. A well-deserved win. Congratulations Peter. You amaze me with every poem you submit

    Greg

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