Skip to main content

My Life, a Melting Ice Cream

I woke up one day to find out I was dead.

I hadn’t made a name, no footprints left;
They only remembered as a forgotten man,
It was like I wasn’t ever there, here,
By the way I lived you’d think that was the plan.

I woke up once and life had melted away.

I’m standing above myself,
A halo over my once miserable head,
What a sight I am, uncaring, unfeeling,
And people wondering if I’m really dead.

I woke up one day to a loud silence.

I woke up to a call I could hear,
I woke up to deafening silence,
The end wasn’t near, the end was here,
There I lay, dead in every sense.

I woke up one day and I just wasn’t there.

Pompously righteous priests nonchalantly muttered prayers
As strangers planted me in the garden dead,
They planted me in a garden of shadows and gloom,
6 feet in the ground in a box without much room.

I went to bed a 7pm and died at 9.

I knocked at the pearly gates,
The reply was simple,
"No admittance after 8",
So silently, I wait,
Morning is only an eternity away.

I woke up one day to find out I was dead.

My life flashed fast before me,
Life rewinds in a disconcerting way,
Suddenly I see myself as a child again,
I’m standing in the mid day sun,
Twin tears running down my cheeks,
A cone of Ice Cream melting in hands.

*****July 27, 2008*****
 
RIP Rex

Popular posts from this blog

Executioner's Business

I have not come here
To put back together
The Guinea fowl egg
That was broken on Her Majesty's sandals.

I am an Executioner.
The why and the how matters not,
It's the Who.

Those who in malice
Destroy good food in fits of pettiness
Then turn to mock the distended bellies
Of hungry children
Shall know no peace.

But today,
It is not scoffing egg breakers that vex me.

It is,
Those who in silence watched
While the dirty deed was done,
Unconcerned about hungry mouths,
Then proceeded to,
on the miscreants
behalf, plead for mercy,
It is they who stir my bile.

So may I not be blamed
When in swinging my blade
I, accidentally, chop off the heads
Of wailers who stand too close to the guilty.

The Executioner's job is urgent business
I have no time for the niceties
Of giving, those who loiter, final warnings.

***** August 3, 2016*****


Bedtime Epiphany of a Pining Heart

Tonight,
I contemplated
On things that were and were not,
On why
Light retracts different, in your eyes,
Like rainbows randomly ricocheting
Off my intangible thoughts,
Spellbinding...

On why,
Words sound different, on your lips,
How you laugh,
How the sounds take a path,
Across infinite dreams,
Into all my incarnations,
Into all my iterations,
Into all...

Tonight,
I concluded
You are a figment
of my imagination,
You must be...

For
God is not so cruel
That he made a Heaven like you
Then condemned me
To the Hell of perpetual longing
Wanting, and never belonging...

*****September 14, 2016*****


God is My Barber

The sickness that made the Vulture bald
would have killed the Crow.

It is because
the gods are petty
and would not be questioned
about who they show favor to,
That Crows live to,
Squawk hysterically
At Vultures' misfortune.

We have come to understand, that,
when a petty god is your barber,
Crows, who can't afford a razor,
with their benevolent destinies,
will punctuate our precious peace
with their shameless snickering.

but
the Vulture
neither
pays any mind
nor
wages a war of words
with mockers and scoffers;
for the cure for baldness
is not found in the laughter of Crows...

*****April 4, 2017*****

http://morganes-photographe.deviantart.com/
My Second poem about Vultures. I really need to stop this...😂😂😂