Forget the knotted stomach that sickens.
Forget the struggle for steadying breath,
for the flickering glimpse of consciousness coming.
where foldings become unfoldings and fear subsides to simplest truth.
Forget all that is possible if you’d
Bury the dice.
No more chance.
And the world gets smaller.
Painlessly ambling from coward’s death to coward’s death and to a coward’s grave.
A death you choose
Read more poems by Peter Boydell
Entries to The Bread and Roses Poetry Competition