Category: death poetry
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Poem 3: Prognosis
grieving from the prognosistrying to rest a moment(recovery is not yet possible)“Lay your head on my chest,”my darling wife invites.I do.“Sorry,” she whispers, “time andgravity have pulled my pillowsinto my armpits.”(humor always our drug of choice)“It’s okay,” I murmur, dimly amused in the darkness of grief.I don’t need pillows, Sweetest; what I needis your heartbeat…
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A Lilly for Willow
send a flower for our darling dogshe’s been our sunshine these stormy sevenyears but now the Cancer has her and Ican’t even breathe – the shear thought of her gonebleeds my heart to Black. Send a flowerfor my Sweetest wife – how her red, red heartbleeds as well to Black! Our mutual sunshineis ravaged, savaged…
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Poet & Muse #197
or perhaps bitter . . .
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Of Death She Stays Aloof
she always was an odd child, fascinatedwith death and dying despite her shelteredlife early on and into adulthood;never lost a friend or close familymember to it, not even so much, orlittle, as a pet goldfish; she had nouse for dead things, things she said were merelydiscarded clothes, the truth of life beingsomething merely disguised by…
Fringemonkey Scribbles 