Obituary

I am dead at 19.
The souls of my unborn children strain at the boundries of the universe
screaming for release,demanding their days in the sun.
They are pursued by the progeny of dead generations lurking in the shadows, and
swallowedby the black hole of my early death,
never to witness the star fire and comet glitz
of their own passing.
Their light will never shine.
I am dead,
and so are they.
Did they see me?
Did anyone?

Bob Flournoy
June 1972