Treasure Island

Mark R Slaughter


The Body


Through oddly tinted glasses, I scan the grey of death -
Stone cold, bone old:
In awe I hold an artefact of life inside the eye!

The skin, a world it bore
Regaling eyes with lands it saw -
Perhaps it aired his vanity of mind -
Man's affliction -
Self-attraction; narcissistic psyches
Doomed to flailing near the end,
Drowning in the tortured seas of egos
Taking in the harsh reality -
Insidious up 'till now - that
Youth is but delusion.

The girls, a score upon the board of kudos -
A sort of aromatic ethos borne of ‘roids
Writhing in a world of incidental sex
Where monomaniacal minds had lost the plot -
With hands evolved for groping,
Lips evolved for soaking in secreted juices
Err they die and rot
Without a proper tale of life to tell.

Dear friend, were we to ever trust our goals?
No? And now you know the reason why you died -
Like all, you'd been denied.

Now over to you, the curious:
You'll also fray through mechanisms best forgot:
So watch your living -
There's no forgiving after death,
The turning point when you'll have had your lot!



Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011










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Submitted: Sunday, May 08, 2011
Edited: Monday, May 21, 2012

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