DINNING WITH DEATH

An influx of dark tomb-designated events dominate me
and I do not carp in what I am doing at the moment
carousing at the same dinner table with one whose eyes
make me loose my grip on life's dice
And he merries and drinks not the food
but bit by bit enjoys the taste of my blood and soul
his price
munching me to the very cells ,I posses
I am coerced to sit not pleased
but in this I find peace.

I am arraigned by my own conscience
in the court that doesn't give to me justice on my own vice
I am a judge and advocate at my own hearing
a little innocent soul was lost thirty minutes
after I wrote the first paragraph to this poem
I really did dine with death
a crime I committed unknowingly
the words you read killed a little girl today
I don't know in what way.

The anastomotic connection between the child's death
and the word's you read
words that actually lived
words that came to deed
this was death I sat at counsel with indeed
and his presence in my heart has filled me with guilt.

Poetry lives and every word's path zigzag
and meets with reality
poetry fulfills now and accounts for tomorrow
you cannot comprehend
But myself an innocent man with a guilty poem
I beg the police to apprehend
I wish I did not write
I wish these word were dead
but they ain't
There is more than just words to a poem
The pen dictates the actions and changes destiny
I can't believe it too
words killed a little baby today
and I was fifty meters away writing his death day
I did not choose for it to happen this way.