The oak door creaked
Open, and a little head
Peered in.
With eyes wide open,
She took in the machines,
The TVs that seemed
To be broken and
The woman that was
Broken.
She smiled sweetly
And ran towards the bed
Only to be stopped
By the family doctor.
He stooped down and
Whispered in her ear,
Her glee soon became sorrow
And when he released her,
Her gallop became
A hesitant stride.
Peering up at all
Who stood beside
The bed, she came to
A stop at the foot of it.
Then before they could
Stop her, she climbed
Up onto the bed and
Curled up beside
The woman.
Those who moved to
Removed her were stopped
By those who were moved
By the little girl's actions.
The actions of a little girl
Who wanted to sleep
With Mommy one last
Time, before the warmth
Slipped away, before
Her humanity exited
Her body, leaving something
So clinical and empty
That they refer to it
As a cadaver.
Until then, this lifeless
Body was Mommy, Wife,
Daughter, Sister, Friend
This was someone.
Showing posts with label Death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Death. Show all posts
Monday, August 17, 2015
Death,
life,
Original,
Original Poem,
original poetry,
poem,
poem about death,
poems,
poetry,
poetry about death
4
words I am thankful for
Someone
Monday, September 2, 2013
Death,
life,
Original,
Original Poem,
poem,
poems,
poetry,
poetry about death
3
words I am thankful for
Ache
Some days,
I ache, the kind of ache
That seems to hold me
Captive in a cage
Of just this moment.
Then this moment
Becomes the next
And then the next
And all I know
Is the pain.
Is this what
My life has been
Reduced to? Is this
All I will ever have?
This ache.
One day,
I fell, a rag doll
I became, boneless,
Spirit less. In a heap
I laid, unconscious.
I awoke, automated,
Machines pushing air
In my lungs, forcing
My body to live, but
All I felt was the ache.
With each breath,
I ached.
With each heartbeat,
I ached, and
With each ache,
I wept, bitterly.
With the passing of time,
The ache increased,
And words were whispered
Into my ear,
"It is darkest before the dawn."
But what kind of dawn
Waits for me?
What will I find
Beyond this ache.
I had grown tired of crying.
When all I could do
Was cry, I grew tired of it.
All that remained was
The ache.
Then there was nothing.
No ache.
No pain.
No me.
Nothing but a memory.
Submitted to imaginary garden with real toads and dVerse Poets
I ache, the kind of ache
That seems to hold me
Captive in a cage
Of just this moment.
Then this moment
Becomes the next
And then the next
And all I know
Is the pain.
Is this what
My life has been
Reduced to? Is this
All I will ever have?
This ache.
One day,
I fell, a rag doll
I became, boneless,
Spirit less. In a heap
I laid, unconscious.
I awoke, automated,
Machines pushing air
In my lungs, forcing
My body to live, but
All I felt was the ache.
With each breath,
I ached.
With each heartbeat,
I ached, and
With each ache,
I wept, bitterly.
With the passing of time,
The ache increased,
And words were whispered
Into my ear,
"It is darkest before the dawn."
But what kind of dawn
Waits for me?
What will I find
Beyond this ache.
I had grown tired of crying.
When all I could do
Was cry, I grew tired of it.
All that remained was
The ache.
Then there was nothing.
No ache.
No pain.
No me.
Nothing but a memory.
Submitted to imaginary garden with real toads and dVerse Poets
Friday, December 7, 2012
Death,
Original,
Original Poem,
poem,
poems,
poetry,
poetry about death
1 words I am thankful for
Her One Regret
"I am waiting to die,"
She said in a matter fact
Manner. She sat at a desk
And looked out the window,
Staring at the carrion birds
Picking at the carcass of
Some unidentifiable animal.
She looked back to me,
Then sighed. She stood and
Walked towards me,
The fabric of her skirt rustling.
She touched my cheek,
Her hands cold and skeletal.
"Do you think I want to die?"
She asked, her eyes searching mine.
I knew not the answer so
I said nothing allowing
Silence to fill the room
Wondering if she would
Accept it as my answer.
"I don't want to die,
At least not the animal part.
That part will always
Fight to live but
That is not the only part,"
She grew weary and
Walked back to the
Desk, bracing herself.
"I am tired,
I am weary,
This body can only
Take me so far,
And I don't think
It has much farther to go."
She sat back down
And looked out of
The window, "Do you...
Do you still miss him?"
I looked to the door,
I would rather leave
Than answer that question.
"You don't have to answer,
I know you do,
I would, if I were you."
I looked back at her
To find her looking at me.
Was that regret on her face?
Did she regret
Sending him away?
Did she regret
Locking me in my room?
Did she regret
Cutting off all communication
Between him and me?
She pulled a key
Out of her pocket
And unlocked a drawer
In the desk, she then
Pulled out a stack of letters.
She tossed them at me,
They landed at my feet.
They were from him.
"Go on, pick them up,
Go on to your room and
Feed on his words."
I stooped down and
Noticed that the date
On the last letter was
But a few days ago.
"Soon enough,
You will leave me.
Soon enough, but
It doesn't matter,
I will sit here, patiently
Waiting to die.
She did die,
By the time
I consumed all his letters,
By the time
I packed all my belongings,
She took her last breath and
Died, releasing her one regret.
She said in a matter fact
Manner. She sat at a desk
And looked out the window,
Staring at the carrion birds
Picking at the carcass of
Some unidentifiable animal.
She looked back to me,
Then sighed. She stood and
Walked towards me,
The fabric of her skirt rustling.
She touched my cheek,
Her hands cold and skeletal.
"Do you think I want to die?"
She asked, her eyes searching mine.
I knew not the answer so
I said nothing allowing
Silence to fill the room
Wondering if she would
Accept it as my answer.
"I don't want to die,
At least not the animal part.
That part will always
Fight to live but
That is not the only part,"
She grew weary and
Walked back to the
Desk, bracing herself.
"I am tired,
I am weary,
This body can only
Take me so far,
And I don't think
It has much farther to go."
She sat back down
And looked out of
The window, "Do you...
Do you still miss him?"
I looked to the door,
I would rather leave
Than answer that question.
"You don't have to answer,
I know you do,
I would, if I were you."
I looked back at her
To find her looking at me.
Was that regret on her face?
Did she regret
Sending him away?
Did she regret
Locking me in my room?
Did she regret
Cutting off all communication
Between him and me?
She pulled a key
Out of her pocket
And unlocked a drawer
In the desk, she then
Pulled out a stack of letters.
She tossed them at me,
They landed at my feet.
They were from him.
"Go on, pick them up,
Go on to your room and
Feed on his words."
I stooped down and
Noticed that the date
On the last letter was
But a few days ago.
"Soon enough,
You will leave me.
Soon enough, but
It doesn't matter,
I will sit here, patiently
Waiting to die.
She did die,
By the time
I consumed all his letters,
By the time
I packed all my belongings,
She took her last breath and
Died, releasing her one regret.
Monday, December 3, 2012
Death,
Nature,
Original,
Original Poem,
poem,
poems,
poetry
10
words I am thankful for
Untitled
The jack rabbit
Raced through the desert,
Stopping only to
Smell the air.
In the split of a second,
He changed direction,
From North to West,
Evading a rattle snake.
The sound of the rattle
At the end of the venomous snake
Died away as it slithered
Along the desert floor.
The predator passed
A pair of scorpions,
Claws snapping, tails raised,
Waiting for an opening to
Deliver a devastating blow.
This fight to the death
Did not even register
As important to
The vultures gliding
On the updrafts,
Waiting.
Waiting for the mountain lion
To have its fill of
A jack rabbit who
Chose to go West
Instead of North.
Submitted to imaginary garden with real toads and dVerse Poets
Raced through the desert,
Stopping only to
Smell the air.
In the split of a second,
He changed direction,
From North to West,
Evading a rattle snake.
The sound of the rattle
At the end of the venomous snake
Died away as it slithered
Along the desert floor.
The predator passed
A pair of scorpions,
Claws snapping, tails raised,
Waiting for an opening to
Deliver a devastating blow.
This fight to the death
Did not even register
As important to
The vultures gliding
On the updrafts,
Waiting.
Waiting for the mountain lion
To have its fill of
A jack rabbit who
Chose to go West
Instead of North.
Submitted to imaginary garden with real toads and dVerse Poets
Friday, August 3, 2012
Death,
Original,
Original Poem,
poem,
poems,
poetry,
poetry about death
0
words I am thankful for
I Am No More
The sweet smell
Of wild flowers
Filled my lungs
As I laid
In the field.
The full moon
Traveled across
The night sky
As my breathing
Became laboured.
One by one,
Two by two,
My bodily functions
Shut down
As little bugs
Crawled along my skin.
Everything faded to black,
The world became soundless,
I died and was
No more.
I was not the daughter,
The sister, the friend.
I was not the worker,
The voter, the traveller.
I was not the fan,
The enthusiasts, the nerd.
I was not the victim
With a bullet hole
In her chest.
I became nothing
But a corpse
In a field and
A memory.
A memory
That will fade
Like old pictures do
Leaving behind only
The bright parts,
The happy parts,
Never the dark,
Sad parts.
There are always
Sad parts.
The parts, you wish
You could take back.
The parts that still
Bring you to tears.
The parts which
Hurt oh, so bad.
Thank God,
Those are the first parts
That fade away,
Melting like wax
From the minds of
The people you love.
They will find me,
They will cry over me,
They will dress me pretty
And they will bury me
Six feet under and
Deep in their hearts.
But all this
Doesn't matter anymore
Because I'm dead
And I am no more.
Of wild flowers
Filled my lungs
As I laid
In the field.
The full moon
Traveled across
The night sky
As my breathing
Became laboured.
One by one,
Two by two,
My bodily functions
Shut down
As little bugs
Crawled along my skin.
Everything faded to black,
The world became soundless,
I died and was
No more.
I was not the daughter,
The sister, the friend.
I was not the worker,
The voter, the traveller.
I was not the fan,
The enthusiasts, the nerd.
I was not the victim
With a bullet hole
In her chest.
I became nothing
But a corpse
In a field and
A memory.
A memory
That will fade
Like old pictures do
Leaving behind only
The bright parts,
The happy parts,
Never the dark,
Sad parts.
There are always
Sad parts.
The parts, you wish
You could take back.
The parts that still
Bring you to tears.
The parts which
Hurt oh, so bad.
Thank God,
Those are the first parts
That fade away,
Melting like wax
From the minds of
The people you love.
They will find me,
They will cry over me,
They will dress me pretty
And they will bury me
Six feet under and
Deep in their hearts.
But all this
Doesn't matter anymore
Because I'm dead
And I am no more.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Death,
Original,
poem,
poems,
poetry,
poetry about death
1 words I am thankful for
Charlie's Wish
Charlie had a death wish,
He had his fill of life
And was prepared to
Meet his maker.
Only problem was
His maker was not read
For Charlie.
Charlie's car stalled
When he locked himself
In his garage.
Charlie's gun jammed
While it was
In his mouth.
Charlie's rope broke
When he knocked
His chair from under himself.
The firemen came
When Charlie tried to
Jump from the 20th floor.
The hit men took
The wrong address
And killed the wrong man.
Seeing a pattern,
Charlie accepted
That he wasn't going to
Die anytime soon
So he went on with his life.
One day as
Charlie was walking
To his fiancee's home
From the job he loved,
He got hit by a bus,
Then the ambulance taking
Charlie to the hospital
Got hit by a train,
And to top it all off,
The Medivac helicopter
Stalled and crashed.
Charlie had a death wish
And his wish was granted.
He had his fill of life
And was prepared to
Meet his maker.
Only problem was
His maker was not read
For Charlie.
Charlie's car stalled
When he locked himself
In his garage.
Charlie's gun jammed
While it was
In his mouth.
Charlie's rope broke
When he knocked
His chair from under himself.
The firemen came
When Charlie tried to
Jump from the 20th floor.
The hit men took
The wrong address
And killed the wrong man.
Seeing a pattern,
Charlie accepted
That he wasn't going to
Die anytime soon
So he went on with his life.
One day as
Charlie was walking
To his fiancee's home
From the job he loved,
He got hit by a bus,
Then the ambulance taking
Charlie to the hospital
Got hit by a train,
And to top it all off,
The Medivac helicopter
Stalled and crashed.
Charlie had a death wish
And his wish was granted.
Friday, February 17, 2012
Death,
Original,
poem,
poems,
poetry,
poetry about death
0
words I am thankful for
Sober
He wasn’t looking
To meet anyone
When he came to the bar.
He had planned
To drown his sorrows
In Whiskey and peanuts.
Instead he met her
And he listened
To her tale.
A tale,
He wished he had never heard,
He wished it was some
Liquor induced delusion.
And yet there she sat
With doe-like eyes
Tinged with innocence,
Regret and fear.
He wanted to protect her.
He want to never
See her scared,
Worried or any other emotion
That would alter
The tranquility of her face.
Instead he listened,
Knowing that that
Was all she wanted from him.
As her tale ended,
He could see her anxiety
Melt away like wax
Exposed to a flame.
She smiled at him weakly,
Then in one gulp,
She finished her drink.
On steady legs that
Spoke nothing of the amount
Of alcohol she consumed,
She stood and thanked him
For listening. Then she left.
He looked down
At his own drink,
He looked into
His own life.
Compared to her sorrows,
His were minnows
To her whales.
He finished his drink
Paid his bill
And left the bar
Sober.
Sober to the reality
That his life could
Be a whole lot worse,
He could have died
And not be missed
By anyone.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Death,
life,
love,
Original,
poem,
poems,
poetry
2
words I am thankful for
Speak To Me
“Speak to me.”
I held her
In my arms,
Her blood soaking my clothes,
Her breath laboured,
Her pulse grew faint
With each passing second.
“Speak to me.”
I was speechless.
What should I say?
My mind was a blank,
All my thoughts had vacated
My brain, but I tried
To find a hint, a trace
Of helpful rhetoric.
“Speak to me.”
“Don’t worry,
The ambulance is on its way,
Help is on the way.”
Please don’t die,
I thought. Please
Don’t cease to breathe,
Don’t cease to be. Please,
Hold on.
“Speak to me.”
Her eyelids fluttered.
I could barely feel
Her pulse,
Her breathing,
Her warmth.
Why was she so cold?
I held her closer, trying
To transfer my warmth to her,
To her body growing colder
In my arms.
“Speak to me.”
“I love you,
I loved you
When we first met,
I loved you
When you made me smile,
I loved you
When you made me mad.
I love the taste of you.
I love everything about you,
And I love the way
You make me feel.
You make me feel complete.
I love you.”
I closed my eyes
And willed her back,
Willed her to stay
Until help came.
I prayed,
I begged
For her life,
For her to live.
When I opened my eyes,
EMS personnel were around us,
They pulled me away
And began to work on her.
I curled up in a corner
And watched strangers try
To save the woman I love.
Just when everything looked lost,
The tension melted away,
The EMS agreed that
She was stable and
The proceeded to put her
On a gurney.
She will live
And I released the breath
I didn’t know I was holding.
“Speak to me.”
I traveled with her
In the ambulance
And on the ride to the hospital,
I vowed to speak to her,
To let her know
How I feel about her.
I will speak to her.
I held her
In my arms,
Her blood soaking my clothes,
Her breath laboured,
Her pulse grew faint
With each passing second.
“Speak to me.”
I was speechless.
What should I say?
My mind was a blank,
All my thoughts had vacated
My brain, but I tried
To find a hint, a trace
Of helpful rhetoric.
“Speak to me.”
“Don’t worry,
The ambulance is on its way,
Help is on the way.”
Please don’t die,
I thought. Please
Don’t cease to breathe,
Don’t cease to be. Please,
Hold on.
“Speak to me.”
Her eyelids fluttered.
I could barely feel
Her pulse,
Her breathing,
Her warmth.
Why was she so cold?
I held her closer, trying
To transfer my warmth to her,
To her body growing colder
In my arms.
“Speak to me.”
“I love you,
I loved you
When we first met,
I loved you
When you made me smile,
I loved you
When you made me mad.
I love the taste of you.
I love everything about you,
And I love the way
You make me feel.
You make me feel complete.
I love you.”
I closed my eyes
And willed her back,
Willed her to stay
Until help came.
I prayed,
I begged
For her life,
For her to live.
When I opened my eyes,
EMS personnel were around us,
They pulled me away
And began to work on her.
I curled up in a corner
And watched strangers try
To save the woman I love.
Just when everything looked lost,
The tension melted away,
The EMS agreed that
She was stable and
The proceeded to put her
On a gurney.
She will live
And I released the breath
I didn’t know I was holding.
“Speak to me.”
I traveled with her
In the ambulance
And on the ride to the hospital,
I vowed to speak to her,
To let her know
How I feel about her.
I will speak to her.
The grey goose
Flew across the sky
And I could care less.
My rifle sat at my feet,
And a cool breeze blew
Past me. It should have
Chilled me but I felt
Nothing.
I shot him,
Blood was everywhere,
His last breath was long gone,
He was long gone.
I stood my position,
Should I take him home?
Or should I put him
In the bayou?
He shouldn’t have been here,
This was my place,
My escape from life,
Our life,
The life of two gay men
Living in the deep south.
I shot my lover,
I shot my best friend,
I felt like it was
I who was dead,
I who ceased to be
And I did die
In the moment that bullet
Pierced his heart.
I can imagine
What they would say
If I took him home.
Across the headlines,
“Gay man shoots his lover.”
“Lover’s spat ends in death.”
The reality is
We were not arguing.
We were not even talking,
He was sneaking up on me
And I shot out
Thinking he was a gator.
He died and I died.
I died
As his body was swallowed
By the cool waters
Of the bayou.
I died
As I walked in after him
And let the waters take me
Home to my lover,
To my best friend.
Flew across the sky
And I could care less.
My rifle sat at my feet,
And a cool breeze blew
Past me. It should have
Chilled me but I felt
Nothing.
I shot him,
Blood was everywhere,
His last breath was long gone,
He was long gone.
I stood my position,
Should I take him home?
Or should I put him
In the bayou?
He shouldn’t have been here,
This was my place,
My escape from life,
Our life,
The life of two gay men
Living in the deep south.
I shot my lover,
I shot my best friend,
I felt like it was
I who was dead,
I who ceased to be
And I did die
In the moment that bullet
Pierced his heart.
I can imagine
What they would say
If I took him home.
Across the headlines,
“Gay man shoots his lover.”
“Lover’s spat ends in death.”
The reality is
We were not arguing.
We were not even talking,
He was sneaking up on me
And I shot out
Thinking he was a gator.
He died and I died.
I died
As his body was swallowed
By the cool waters
Of the bayou.
I died
As I walked in after him
And let the waters take me
Home to my lover,
To my best friend.
I was awaken
By his breath
Against the back of my neck.
From a distance,
I heard the words,
"I love you."
The vibrations
Ran up and down my spine
Setting off synopsis.
My mind was set on fire,
My heart ran away from me,
My body desired him.
It was not the words,
"I love you,"
That garnered these reactions,
But their vibrations.
The vibrations spoke of
His intentions,
His state of mind,
His truth,
His reality.
They were not
Paper thin words uttered
Into the atmosphere
With hopes that I would hear them
And not put meaning to them.
They were not uttered
As he reached forward and
Grasped his big O, or
Released as a reply
To my declaration of love.
His words,
His vibrations
Were whispered
In the dead of night
When slumber and I were one.
I turned to reach for him,
To tell him that I loved him,
To show him that I loved him
But he was not there.
Then I remembered.
I remembered that
He had died.
He had died a year ago.
So I whispered,
"I love you, too."
By his breath
Against the back of my neck.
From a distance,
I heard the words,
"I love you."
The vibrations
Ran up and down my spine
Setting off synopsis.
My mind was set on fire,
My heart ran away from me,
My body desired him.
It was not the words,
"I love you,"
That garnered these reactions,
But their vibrations.
The vibrations spoke of
His intentions,
His state of mind,
His truth,
His reality.
They were not
Paper thin words uttered
Into the atmosphere
With hopes that I would hear them
And not put meaning to them.
They were not uttered
As he reached forward and
Grasped his big O, or
Released as a reply
To my declaration of love.
His words,
His vibrations
Were whispered
In the dead of night
When slumber and I were one.
I turned to reach for him,
To tell him that I loved him,
To show him that I loved him
But he was not there.
Then I remembered.
I remembered that
He had died.
He had died a year ago.
So I whispered,
"I love you, too."
Friday, August 12, 2011
Death,
Madness,
Original,
Peace,
poetry,
relationships,
Revenge
0
words I am thankful for
I Found Peace
 |
| vi.sualize.us |
Daniel laughed out loud,
And usually it would thrill me,
But in this moment,
It only chilled me.
The gasoline had leaked
From the can
Creating a river of death
That pooled before me,
Becoming a lake tinged with
My fear.
His eyes were wild,
His movements, too quick,
His hatred shone and flickered
Around him as though it lived
In his atmosphere.
Those fingers used to intertwine
With mine, those hands
Used to stroke my cheeks,
But now they struck a match.
Now they tossed the match
Into the river of death.
Flames caught, leaping and
Jumping, following the river
To where I sit bound.
And in one breath,
The flames began to consume me,
But I refused to look away
From my former lover’s face.
As my skin melted,
As the smoke filled my lungs,
I stared at him,
I stared at my killer.
I died,
And in that death,
I cursed him.
I cursed him with
The darkest of magic,
A magic fed by
My rage.
It was that magic
That kept me alive
After my body had died.
And it was that magic
That helped me kill
Daniel.
And it was in his death,
I found peace in
My own death.
 |
| source |
Every now and then,
He would look out
Into the brine
As though he was looking for
Something.
Something that was lost at see,
Or in some far off land
That lay beyond
The horizon,
Beyond our existence.
I would watch him
From a bedroom window
Wanting to reach out to him,
Wanting to wrap him in my arms
And till him that it’s alright
That the pain will subside
From piercing jabs
To a subdued ache.
All I can do is watch him,
Watch the grief devour him,
Consume him thoroughly,
Leaving a shadow of the man
I loved, I cherished,
That I vowed to love
Till Death do us part.
The reality is those vows
Were not accurate.
You see even though
I died,
Our love never died,
It bound us over
The chasm of life and death.
It kept me here and
Although I can’t talk to him,
Touch him,
Kiss him,
I can still love him,
And in some strange way
I think he can feel my love.
In time,
I will fade away
Into the great unknown.
In time,
His grief will fade
Into acceptance and gratitude
That we did share our lives,
But the one thing
That will never fade
Is our love for each other.
I love you, Jonathon
And I know you love me too.
I stared at the cup of tea
The stewardess had placed before me.
It was one of those exotic herbals
That was supposed to be beneficial
For one thing or another,
But so far it had not done its job.
I was still on edge,
My mind buzzing from one thought
To another like a restless bee,
But it still returned to one thought.
Where is Anna?
The last time I saw her,
We were at the airport
Saying our goodbyes.
She was going to her father
For summer and I hugged her
So tight resisting letting her go.
I should have held on,
I should never have let her go.
Her father is dead,
His home is ransacked
And Anna is gone.
“Are you here on vacation?
Or are you here for business?”
The immigration officer’s words
Cut through the fog in my head.
“I came for my daughter.”
“Is she studying here?
Does she live here?
Is she here on vacation?”
“She was kidnapped here.”
His face was a slideshow of emotions.
Shock.
Confusion.
Recognition.
Comprehension.
Sympathy.
He stamped my passport
And wished me luck.
It was a wasted wish,
Three days later,
I stood over Anna’s body,
Too numb to cry,
Too hurt to speak.
I signed the paperwork,
Arranged the flights
And as quietly as I entered,
I left the small country.
It was only when I was at home,
A week after Anna was buried
That I cried.
I cried until no more tears came,
Until I plotted a way
To kill the man that killed
The only family I had.
Six months later,
An unidentified was found dead
In the small country.
It was obvious that
He had been tortured
And he was missing a molar
That could not be found
At the place where he died.
That said molar
Was buried with a Colt 45
Three feet above the coffin
Of a young woman
Who was called
Anna.
The stewardess had placed before me.
It was one of those exotic herbals
That was supposed to be beneficial
For one thing or another,
But so far it had not done its job.
I was still on edge,
My mind buzzing from one thought
To another like a restless bee,
But it still returned to one thought.
Where is Anna?
The last time I saw her,
We were at the airport
Saying our goodbyes.
She was going to her father
For summer and I hugged her
So tight resisting letting her go.
I should have held on,
I should never have let her go.
Her father is dead,
His home is ransacked
And Anna is gone.
“Are you here on vacation?
Or are you here for business?”
The immigration officer’s words
Cut through the fog in my head.
“I came for my daughter.”
“Is she studying here?
Does she live here?
Is she here on vacation?”
“She was kidnapped here.”
His face was a slideshow of emotions.
Shock.
Confusion.
Recognition.
Comprehension.
Sympathy.
He stamped my passport
And wished me luck.
It was a wasted wish,
Three days later,
I stood over Anna’s body,
Too numb to cry,
Too hurt to speak.
I signed the paperwork,
Arranged the flights
And as quietly as I entered,
I left the small country.
It was only when I was at home,
A week after Anna was buried
That I cried.
I cried until no more tears came,
Until I plotted a way
To kill the man that killed
The only family I had.
Six months later,
An unidentified was found dead
In the small country.
It was obvious that
He had been tortured
And he was missing a molar
That could not be found
At the place where he died.
That said molar
Was buried with a Colt 45
Three feet above the coffin
Of a young woman
Who was called
Anna.
Her scream
Was ripped
From her chest
And was hurled
Across the room.
It was as if
She was using it
As her defense,
That somehow
It would stop
Him in his tracks.
It didn't.
All it made him do
Was clamp his palm
Over her mouth.
He needed silence.
He needed them
To remain alone.
He didn't need
The police coming along,
Asking questions,
Being suspicious.
He whispered
Into her ear,
His breath warming it,
Blowing against
The fine hairs in it.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
"I'm going to remove my hand."
"Don't scream."
"I'm looking for Allan."
Confusion crossed her face,
As his hand moved
From his lips.
He sat back down
In the wing chair.
He was sitting there
When she walked in,
A gun in his lap.
He sat in the dark,
Waiting for Allan.
"Allan doesn't live here!"
"I live alone!"
"This is my apartment!"
He listened as words
Pored out of her mouth.
He pulled out
A slip of paper,
Checking the apartment number.
Gina's handwriting was horrible.
Was it a 9 or a 4?
Obviously, it wasn't a 4.
Another death on Gina's head.
He stood up
And made his way
To the door.
He looked back
At her for the last time.
What a shame,
She was pretty.
She had good taste.
She had her whole life
Before her.
Ten seconds later
He was gone.
The next morning,
The newspapers' headlines
Read "Two Dead
In Apartment Complex!"
It continued to read
That one was a woman in 4B
And the other a man in 9B.
He clipped out the stories
And made copies for Gina.
The copies were
To encourage Gina to write better.
The copies were
To remind him
To confirm all his assignments.
The copies were
To remind Gina
That another unnecessary death
Was on her head.
Another lethal lesson
To be learned
Was ripped
From her chest
And was hurled
Across the room.
It was as if
She was using it
As her defense,
That somehow
It would stop
Him in his tracks.
It didn't.
All it made him do
Was clamp his palm
Over her mouth.
He needed silence.
He needed them
To remain alone.
He didn't need
The police coming along,
Asking questions,
Being suspicious.
He whispered
Into her ear,
His breath warming it,
Blowing against
The fine hairs in it.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
"I'm going to remove my hand."
"Don't scream."
"I'm looking for Allan."
Confusion crossed her face,
As his hand moved
From his lips.
He sat back down
In the wing chair.
He was sitting there
When she walked in,
A gun in his lap.
He sat in the dark,
Waiting for Allan.
"Allan doesn't live here!"
"I live alone!"
"This is my apartment!"
He listened as words
Pored out of her mouth.
He pulled out
A slip of paper,
Checking the apartment number.
Gina's handwriting was horrible.
Was it a 9 or a 4?
Obviously, it wasn't a 4.
Another death on Gina's head.
He stood up
And made his way
To the door.
He looked back
At her for the last time.
What a shame,
She was pretty.
She had good taste.
She had her whole life
Before her.
Ten seconds later
He was gone.
The next morning,
The newspapers' headlines
Read "Two Dead
In Apartment Complex!"
It continued to read
That one was a woman in 4B
And the other a man in 9B.
He clipped out the stories
And made copies for Gina.
The copies were
To encourage Gina to write better.
The copies were
To remind him
To confirm all his assignments.
The copies were
To remind Gina
That another unnecessary death
Was on her head.
Another lethal lesson
To be learned
Let me first apologize for the morbid nature of the poem.
Let me die
This peaceful death
Without the madness
Of machines screaming
Into my deaf ears.
Let me die
This peaceful death
Where I never knew
How to bear the pain.
The physical pain
Tearing me apart
Or the pain
I see in your eyes
Every time you come to see me.
Let me die
This peaceful death,
Never to breathe in
Canned air,
Letting my body
Be fed by tubes,
Never tasting again.
Let me die
This peaceful death.
The same kind of death
My fore parents succumbed to.
The kind of death
That gives you enough time
To walk down memory lane
Before I cease to be.
Let me die
This peaceful death
And forgo this slow
Meaningless fall
From grace.
Let me die...
Let me die
This peaceful death
Without the madness
Of machines screaming
Into my deaf ears.
Let me die
This peaceful death
Where I never knew
How to bear the pain.
The physical pain
Tearing me apart
Or the pain
I see in your eyes
Every time you come to see me.
Let me die
This peaceful death,
Never to breathe in
Canned air,
Letting my body
Be fed by tubes,
Never tasting again.
Let me die
This peaceful death.
The same kind of death
My fore parents succumbed to.
The kind of death
That gives you enough time
To walk down memory lane
Before I cease to be.
Let me die
This peaceful death
And forgo this slow
Meaningless fall
From grace.
Let me die...
She left the night before
To Shequan's house,
She said.
The next morning,
I woke,
She wasn't in her bed.
I went into the kitchen,
Mama was slouching over the counter,
Her eyes red.
I asked where She was,
Mama looked at me,
Then wept.
I went to school,
Everyone looked at me
With sympathy in their eyes.
Something was wrong.
I came home,
The police were there.
Something was definitely wrong.
Mama took me aside
When I went in,
And took me to my room.
Mama looked me in my eyes,
Then said what was wrong.
She was gone.
She was killed.
She was my sister.
To Shequan's house,
She said.
The next morning,
I woke,
She wasn't in her bed.
I went into the kitchen,
Mama was slouching over the counter,
Her eyes red.
I asked where She was,
Mama looked at me,
Then wept.
I went to school,
Everyone looked at me
With sympathy in their eyes.
Something was wrong.
I came home,
The police were there.
Something was definitely wrong.
Mama took me aside
When I went in,
And took me to my room.
Mama looked me in my eyes,
Then said what was wrong.
She was gone.
She was killed.
She was my sister.
Do I greet you,
Dear Grim Reaper
With your implement in hand?
Do I offer you
A drink
As well as my life?
Do I explain
To you aplenty
Why I have beckoned you here?
Nay,
My dear,
Grim Reaper,
I apologize profusely,
I've wasted your time,
I've wasted your energy.
I bid you farewell
Till my final day,
No sooner,
No later.
Goodbye,
My dear friend.
I'll be honest with you since I was a child, I had a fascination with death. Halloween is still one of my favourite "holidays". What was different with me is I actually sat down and thought about it (I do a lot of thinking) and I was not content with the prospect of dying and living forever in this perfect heaven. What would I do, so I thought I would be better suited to be the Grim Reaper's assistant. Of course my thinking on life and death has changed over the years, but if I had to choose how to spend eternity, I would be the assistant.
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