Your Haunting death
Like your life
Still leave them cold
They search for reasons
Answers that defy questions
Remember what you told me
Wrong body, wrong time
But not to worry
Get it right next time
So I tell them
Wrong body, wrong time
They can’t define
You were on such a high that night
We laughed until dawn
The final toast
As you lay upon
That haunting smile goodbye
Before you died
One more for the road
Keepsake to the good times
One glass left behind
See you next time my friend
New body, right time.
-
Author:
Paul Bell (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: January 20th, 2026 05:29
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 25
- Users favorite of this poem: Friendship, Tristan Robert Lange

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Comments9
Has always got my vote. At age 19 I wrote a school essay on the subject, and while today my debate could possibly be better expressed, my views on Dying With Dignity, as it is more popularly known now have not changed one whit.
Your piece adds to the argument with more depth and does it admirably, Paul
It\'s always amazed me that you can get charged for prolonging a dogs life, yet you can leave a human in agony for months or even years.
A write about the right to die that should be responsibly assumed by each person, A lovely and poignant write
It really should be up to the individual.
Agreed
So sorry for your loss.A very heart-touching poem. Your poem reflects on the memories shared with a deceased friend, capturing the emotions of loss and the desire to reconnect in a different existence. The poet navigates feelings of grief, reflection, and the hope of reuniting under more favorable circumstances.
Dying really should be up to the individual.
We have the mad case in Britain where people go to Switzerland to die.
Quietly devastatingโthis carries grief without spectacle, just truth and tenderness. That last turn hits hard, a goodbye that feels earned and human.
It is a tough subject that has been hijacked by politicians in Britain.
An exquisite expression ๐๏ธ๐๐ป
Good way to go.
It reminded me of how recently we needed to get the DNR process enforced to keep the dignity and ease of passing. ๐๏ธ๐๐ป
Doh! I thought I was assisted dying - me, that is! - when I had to sit through a 3 hour lecture on, ohh I dunno, what was it: 'The different shades of paint colours that one can watch drying'. Or am I telling porkies? lol.
3 hour lecture is the bank manager telling me they don't do loans to go to Las Vegas to gamble with.
Hate bank managers.
Paul, this is a moving meditation on loss and continuity and it all feels like a way of keeping someone present without denying the ache. A beautiful and sorrowful piece. Well done, my friend. ๐น๐ค๐๐ฏ๏ธ๐ฆโโฌ
It sure does respect the dying.
Indeed. It does.
Almost metaphoric for the one who got away... I hope this isn't quite so literal.
You can't go about assisting people in Britain, the authorities frown upon it.
Need to do it quiet. sshh
I thought that's what assisted living meant? Lol
a hauntingly sad poem with a message for all...liked it
Sure is tough in the dying game.
yes indeed
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