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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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death death death death death death death death death death
death death death death death death death death death death
death death death death death death death death death death

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

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