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The bats leaves the eaves
and the lady cries greensleeves
down near Avalon
beside the sword in the stone
entwined in pieces of twinkling hard granite
will the sword and metal have it?
or remain captured and entombed?
a Lara croft heirloom?
what is harder the sword or the stone?
or your heart heavy alone?
no hope of peace in the mists
the lady of the lake does sleep and drown
the drunkards are leaving the town
your heart does wear a wrinkled frown
your soul yearns peace and the silence of the shroud
under the stars amongst the fairies and the proud
you cannot whisper these thoughts aloud
for you are part of the crowd
soon to sample the mystery and folklore of the past
your soul will shatter and whistle past
the teachers that used to teach you in the class
to lands unknown and jewelled in glass
of geometrical unknowns and architecture unsurpassed
past the portal in the third eye
into the black holes in the sky
and not realising the reason why
humans must always have to die
Georges

you wrote this Ode to immortality 10 years ago so I thought I would check if you are still alive. if you are I want you to know that I have been thinking constantly about your poem and have concluded that I have nothing to say about it. The next time I check back with any further thoughts will be 2022, so see you in 7 hours time.