Our end
Our end
Though cruel seas like mountains fill the bay
I remember death can also be a way
of being born again.
Just not for us.
Some may cross the mountains
with hurting, stinging lungs
or gills - however, us it fills
with water.
And still water
makes me think of mother
the cold sting hitting the skin
just not outside, inside
this time
And so it comes to a close.
Life ends so well, so fittingly
What if starting again were not
only fantasy?
The wait ends in waves
There was no possibility
of taking a walk that day.
The rain was whipping down,
lashing, warning:
stay away.
There was no possibility
of taking a walk that day.
The sun scorching,
air hung wet from rain,
suffocating.
There was no possibility
of taking a walk that day.
All I could
was wait inside,
holed up, rotting
counting hours.
And there was no possibility
of taking a walk (help me),
For it was then that the ocean came,
a tidal wave,
washing over me, the house.
My final resting place.
I knew there’d be no possibility
of taking a walk, ever again.
Not for me, nor anyone.
The elements were annihilation
eradication
termination
obliteration
extinction.
January, 4:17 a.m.
Good morning, it’s January and it’s 4:17 a.m.,
and I’m going to sit here in the dark.
This is not the first time. In fact, I am not early, up,
because I didn’t go down at all, my alarm
will not ring for hours. Sitting like this reminds me
that it is winter. Which is why I have such disregard
for my sleep cycle. To hell with sleep! To hell with
all except for me, myself and I, there is no glint
in the dark, dark night, no white, no light, no frostnip,
frosted window, only my head is frozen solid.
Out of fear? I wonder, but then again there is nothing under
the bed, none of that cold draft which made me curl
into a ball, when I was younger. Now, it could be summer.
If not for the morning hours, when I sit and remember
all that newborns will never know, and I mourn.
A relentless occupation of my mind
We’d rather have the iceberg than the ship, I think,
when we're watching the movie Titanic. I've sympathy for the
people, slowly sinking, but I cannot forget how we, too,
are sinking, slowly for now, but accelerating, soon
we’ll have sunk. Maybe some will have saved themselves
on rafts, made from the wreckage of our sinking ship
the Earth. I have sympathy, but thinking of the icy water,
I can’t help but remember what a high cost we pay
for not having icebergs to sink ships anymore. This is ruined
for me, as well, as most things are these days.
Though cruel seas like mountains fill the bay
I remember death can also be a way
of being born again.
Just not for us.
Some may cross the mountains
with hurting, stinging lungs
or gills - however, us it fills
with water.
And still water
makes me think of mother
the cold sting hitting the skin
just not outside, inside
this time
And so it comes to a close.
Life ends so well, so fittingly
What if starting again were not
only fantasy?
The wait ends in waves
There was no possibility
of taking a walk that day.
The rain was whipping down,
lashing, warning:
stay away.
There was no possibility
of taking a walk that day.
The sun scorching,
air hung wet from rain,
suffocating.
There was no possibility
of taking a walk that day.
All I could
was wait inside,
holed up, rotting
counting hours.
And there was no possibility
of taking a walk (help me),
For it was then that the ocean came,
a tidal wave,
washing over me, the house.
My final resting place.
I knew there’d be no possibility
of taking a walk, ever again.
Not for me, nor anyone.
The elements were annihilation
eradication
termination
obliteration
extinction.
January, 4:17 a.m.
Good morning, it’s January and it’s 4:17 a.m.,
and I’m going to sit here in the dark.
This is not the first time. In fact, I am not early, up,
because I didn’t go down at all, my alarm
will not ring for hours. Sitting like this reminds me
that it is winter. Which is why I have such disregard
for my sleep cycle. To hell with sleep! To hell with
all except for me, myself and I, there is no glint
in the dark, dark night, no white, no light, no frostnip,
frosted window, only my head is frozen solid.
Out of fear? I wonder, but then again there is nothing under
the bed, none of that cold draft which made me curl
into a ball, when I was younger. Now, it could be summer.
If not for the morning hours, when I sit and remember
all that newborns will never know, and I mourn.
A relentless occupation of my mind
We’d rather have the iceberg than the ship, I think,
when we're watching the movie Titanic. I've sympathy for the
people, slowly sinking, but I cannot forget how we, too,
are sinking, slowly for now, but accelerating, soon
we’ll have sunk. Maybe some will have saved themselves
on rafts, made from the wreckage of our sinking ship
the Earth. I have sympathy, but thinking of the icy water,
I can’t help but remember what a high cost we pay
for not having icebergs to sink ships anymore. This is ruined
for me, as well, as most things are these days.