I shall die in Venice in the rain.
Sluggish and soaked in a gondola,
an unromantic death
amidst a jovial carnival crowd.
In the deep depths of sleep
this is a reoccurring scenario,
and when I see the Piazza San Marco
a feeling of déjà vu arises
for I have died this death several times.
The gondola rows slowly,
very slowly down the Canal Grande.
Death standing at the helm
in his mundane mantle, long white carnival beak
protruding from the raised crow coloured hood.
I feel the rain splashing softly against my face
and a feeling of suffocation,
trying to signal for help while motionless and speechless.
My eyes scan the scenery for an exit
as the piazza pigeons take flight, circling like vultures.
The crowd in medieval costumes and solemn masks,
tip their hats
as we row on by into the dark horizon
to the other side of the world.
Where I check in and wait in the departure lounge
amongst other passengers with similar dreams
and we swap stories of our journeys,
while waiting to see who is flying
and who is falling.
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Submission Name: I shall die in Venice in the rain
