This
your first death
my last
now rest my little dear
a cast
of shadows
maketh
hazy souls
from where
we'll hum
our dirge
our tune
a scourge
of time
to tell of our no more
…
Yet
bark-rough
our skin of late
how? -
so thin
we were in life
beneath
we needed such a carapace
to cosy from the world
…
I'm reminded of a flow of trees bent
in our direction
jostling greens
lending metaphors
Is it wisdom?
We let our struggle go
See the red-black eyes
red-black death
your flesh
was new
and fresh
…
I'm old
and we are dead
together
DEAD!
SOLD!
blue-ice cold
forever
…
And still
we never
were alive
clever
as an irony
Let us look beyond
o'er the cirrus
o'er the blue
in mist as love
we cannot part
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2013
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem