Death Poems

The big day had at long last, finally arrived
That he had been waiting for his whole life
Though he hadn't always realized

His suit had been laid out for him while he slept
His dearest had chosen colors to best represent
His greatest strengths while hiding any regrets

Hired servants washed him with reverence
Hushed tones, voices soft in his presence
His thoughts distant in contemplated existence

He wasn't royalty, he wasn't loaded with cash
His parade wasn't lead with sirens and flash
But people waved at his carriage as he passed

He seemed in a trance as he entered the hall
Pictures and awards lining the walls
His closest friends beside him, standing tall

This was his party, this was his day
His greatest prides put on display
As people from his life took turns to say:

"...Always the ideal example of a man,"
"My life is better for knowing him," and
"I admire his work, I'm his biggest fan."

And all the things he failed to accomplish
Were justified away, "He knew how to dream big"
The holes that he made just show he could dig

The crowd laughed as they roasted him
They raised their glasses and toasted to him
As his friends bragged and boasted for him

Then the mood of the room grew a little more sober
As the love of his life revealed how deeply he loved her
And the blush on his cheeks seemed out of character

They then closed their eyes and said a prayer
Thankful for the moments they were blessed to share
That formed the memories they held so dear

They tucked him gently into his little bed
Then placed a kiss on his wrinkled forehead
And took one last look before closing the lid,

Uncovered the vault, lowered him into the ground
Crying as the casket slowly went down
And then covered it up with earthen brown

Then went their separate ways to try to move on.

She's always preparing
for the worst;
even now, in-between the
calm and the storm.

Yet with unflinching eyes,
she sits quietly,
taking it all in.
Like a cold morning
on the porch with
her coffee.

To her, grief is
a planned process.
Something tangible.
If she can take
enough notes,
and do her research,
she can handle it.

And death,
she knows him.
He's an old friend,
sitting in the corner
of the room as
we speak.

But for this,
she couldn't prepare.
This time, it's
out of her hands.
The deck of cards
given and cursed
at birth.

Now, like a passenger
of a ship, she will wait
for its landing.
And the worst is
yet to come,
but this time
she won't be ready.

             
I asked Death              
if madame took it up the ass            
and what it felt like        
sleeping with a stiff              
in eternity's ice cold bed               
         
So far          
she didn't answer,             
which suits me just fine              
but I can't help wondering              
how high I rate on her list              
               
I almost asked            
if on her wilder nights              
Death plays peeping Tom          
stalking the window of life          
applauding every cigarette and shot            
her shadow ready to pounce          
on the foibles of an ailing heart            
             
But she must hear that all the time               
so then I thought maybe life's  
plucked blind from the nest       
a trembling baby bird        
to be cupped in safer hands              
away from Death's embrace        
for a fleeting moment of joy              
while the rest of eternity waits        
which means not one of us      
can ever quite learn how to fly                
           
And I still can't get a hard on          
for Death Air economy class              
all the waiting to check in      
with seven billion in the line              
no lifejacket required              
and not even a restroom              
to freshen up in        
               
Wouldn't you bet          
she'll be a sour-faced        
miserable bitch              
with a gash like sandpaper          
and gravity stretched tits              
forever checking her nails              
and bragging to her pals        
cholesterol and cancer             
about threesomes in the freezer             
with every new kid hits town      
       
Don't you just hate          
blind dates.

I awaken with a sudden gasp,
As a silent scream escapes my lips.  
My heart beats heavy in my chest:  
A dream, into reality, slips.  
  
The hairs are raised upon my back,  
As my body aches with fright;  
I sit there petrified, awake...  
Alas! Another sleepless night.  
   
I cannot sleep in peace, it seems,  
As I'm haunted by these hellish scenes,  
That creep into my deepest dreams,  
And tear me at my weakest seams.  
   
And so, I paint the perfect picture,  
Like a photograph for the world to see,  
Of the land of death and decay,  
Which dwells so deep inside of me.  
   
One night whilst I lay in bed,  
Just as I was drifting off to sleep,  
I felt an awful sense of dread—  
A certain darkness looming over me.  
   
That night I dreamed of my own death,  
But it seemed so real to me this time;  
I could feel the reaper’s icy breath,  
As she locked her lips with mine.  
   
The light escaped my emerald eyes,  
As I took my final, labored breath;  
Eclipsing me in eternal darkness  
—the cold embrace of death.  
   
Suddenly…  
 
Awakened by a stabbing pain!  
A knife dug deep into my skin;  
I feel my life begin to wane,  
As it lacerates the veins within.  
   
My life flashed before my eyes,  
As my vision was eclipsed.  
I had seen my own demise  
In the reaper's icy kiss.  
   
Lying lifeless on the bed,  
My mattress painted crimson red;  
Like the hellish scenes inside my head  
—A gruesome picture of the dead.  
   
The ending of this tragic story...  
Painted in this final scene.  
All that remains of me is my artistry:  
My window to the obscene.

 

Baby, I'm so sorry
last night I must have been
drunker than I thought
What was I thinking of?

On my way out
I remembered to turn off the light
but I left your door open
so the whole wide world
could just walk right in
and take advantage

I know, baby
that was my big mistake
We all make them
sometimes
although I've never done
anything as foolish before
but then none of us is perfect
after all

You know lately it's been the
toughest time at work
nothing seems to go right
only stress and the bills
getting higher
no wonder I need to drink
the way I do

Can you imagine
how I felt
coming home to find you like that
everything I held so dear
special memories lost forever
all the things I loved
and looked forward to
gone for good

The worst part
was seeing your insides
all churned up
congealing on the floor
Now I know how a murderer
must feel

We may as well let the cat
finish up what's left
before I drag you outside
and down the stairs
You're certainly heavier
than I thought
and when I get time
I promise
to dispose of you properly
but for now my dearest
dead
freezer
may you rest quietly
in peace

 
 
They found the child lying
deep in the depths of my womb,
along with other past lives
fermenting into mud
in their cold, watery graves.
 
Lifted up from the darkness,
five shadowy figures
came and took her from me,
while I could not say how
this had me feel.
 
But soon it made itself known,
as the new emptiness
opened its mocking jaw,
as clouds of silt slowly rose
from surrounding memories.
 
There was turbulence
in these waters, to
acquiesce thieves in the night
as they committed Rebirth,
leaving me bereft.
 
As Death, the passage of Time
means nothing to me—
and each arrival
hears me like a
whale sinking into the deep.
 
I am a placid liquid
surrounded by Nature’s calm,
reflecting bygone worlds
from where all were born,
and where all shall return.
 
I am that woman
returning my daughter
to me, her Mother—
so I watch, and I’ll wait,
reminded of Time passing.
 
I am Death, the other side,
where all my children
in this embrace
shall be equally mourned,
if I should lose even one.
 

Death is neither shadow  
nor luster of perception;      
but, the obscure expanse  
amid the forgotten—        
It’s the hollow snag  
who nominates herself        
for neither ritual nor obligation  
to the land of her sapling youth;  
the very spot the forest floor    
nursed her into becoming  
     
Evolution is a portal—
a continuum of bark        
and limb regenerating
through lives of descendants’  
dependent upon the cycle        
       
Death is neither noise nor the absence of—       
but the interval of silent partners  
linking formations of notes and words
into definitions that form our lives; 
it’s a musician whose message
returns to its place of conception—        
bequeathing a legacy: survive        
the mass illusion of deficiency           
       
Death is neither touch nor absence of caress;        
It’s Love's ombudsman returning victorious       
~

imagine    
the souls of dead folk  
dissipating    
    
rising    
just that quiet    
and fading    
through endless blue    
or black    
and stars like pinholes    
and memories spun out    
and hard wrought truth    
twisted into one last hungry breath    
before the bony chest stops    
and the skin goes yellow    
   
i remember jesus in the manger    
his lights strung across the porch rail,    
a plastic snowman standing in the weeds    
and mama saying plug him in and light him up    
and her hanging clothes in grey December    
her skirt in the icy wind    
and fingers blue cold    
and those wide sheets blowing white against the tumbled sky    
   
and her gone now like that boy who watched    
and wished    
and never thought about disappearing    
   
and all that and this, too,    
all what little i am,    
these books    
and all what's beloved    
and sacred    
and all of it the same as yours,    
all of it tender in the fleshy pit behind the sternum    
but then just gone,    
even the holiest part of it,    
and our little lives mined for relics    
   
and so we wish for heaven    
and even hell    
where all our cherished pieces are melded    
and recognizable    
and our spark forever lights against the night sky    
strong beyond the memories of loved ones