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Poem by Hazel Hall
I am less of myself and more of the sun; The beat of life is wearing me To an incomplete oblivion, Yet not to the certain dignity Of death. They cannot even die Who have not lived. The hungry jaws Of space snap at my unlearned eye, And time tears in my flesh like claws. If I am not life’s, if I am not death’s, Out of chaos I must re-reap The burden of untasted breaths. Who has not waked may not yet sleep.
Hazel Hall's other poems:
English Poetry. E-mail firstname.lastname@example.org