Why do you fear death when
you’ve died so many times before?
It was new once and it scared you,
an awful boom and tingling sensation
up your spine, lights dimmed,
an explosion of impossible colors
tasting like metal and smelling of wood,
leaving you breathless
We find peace in cemeteries,
severe paths leading to
shaded plots of land
under hazy streetlight –
take my hand,
tell me you love me,
make me feel it, damnit,
“Whether we like it or not, the one justification for the existence of all religions is death. They need death as much as we need bread to eat.” ― José Saramago
Evil lives deep in this forest.
I wake before dawn and think
how I’m different from yesterday
and the day before that,
each day, hour, minute lurching
closer to a murky grave,
Frozen, she gasps her last breath.
my body, dissolved in acid
is a fitting way for life’s end
terminate the contract of
my earthly stay
amid the desert landscape
if you must
Since I’ve been writing more poetry, I’ve been reading more poetry lately. I’ve read some newer stuff, but I’ve also been reading many of the classics, including William Blake, T.S. Eliot, and W.B. Yeats.
I recently read an anthology of 20th century American poetry that was comprehensive regarding the poets it included. One of the poets that struck me the most was John Berryman, and the anthology included poems from his much-celebrated volume called The Dream Songs.