Mourn
Dazed, in a malaise,... I strayed into the graves,
-gray-faced slate shapes ... brittle with age-,
Die a little each day,... as the cold moon glows
My eyelids close, heavy as ... old tombstones
The black rose, ... thorn in the flesh, deformed, in a mess,
My sin-darkened heart begs a morbid arrest..
before the storm in the chest,
billows up the mortal caress,
No more, no less, just grief and loss
They Eat the soul's gold and eke the dross
Tears never cease or pause, in creeps a fog
That I can't seem to see across...
We can call him lost, or perhaps he's changed
Lost both the same day, started acting strange
Death pesters us in her haphazard ways
We never get a chance to practice pain
This young man wanders amidst the tombs
He lives in what we only glimpse as gloom
A broken mess, but that ends today
In hopeless grief, he's not meant to stay...
I had them sent away, the first time they tried,
I coughed and cried, they fought and pried,
My thoughts defied their call to reason,
It Felt odd that evening.... in that lost and altered season
“He’s gone mad”, the shades hissed with frayed lips
They swung this time with strength like an arranged fist
A strange kiss as my face hits the dew
-Tears fed from the dead in the mist that grew-
Pain in my wrists it flew.. his eyelid was blue
From the blood birthing the bruise my kicks induced...
“Strap him down, dammit! Don’t let him move again!”
Fucking black eye, thanks to my useless friends
“Take him to the truck!”, spittin, kickin and screaming,
Sputtering “Fucks”, mingled with pleas to his demons,
A sane man, now lost in a maze of mourning
With regret the entrance and his pain adorning…
The Metal door thuds, I’m caged in that moment
She drove off, I sulked, rage to foment..
A dumb argument concerning her Facebook...
Misplaced looks, words with barbed bait hooks…
Struggles only sink them deeper into the heart…
My baby’s face, burned away by the intimate spark…
Not the one in the gas that gasped out in the crash…
But the first curse words we lashed out in the past…
And the coroner spoke, heavy lead in his breath..
“She was two months pregnant…at the time of her death”…
And the spread of regret is the roil of the storm
A warped live wire heart in the coil of the mourn.....
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