The Black Mist (a poem)

The black mist rolled around me

And the vase shattered into a million pieces

The flower petals it once held

Orange, red and yellow, they were all scattered around

The pieces are now jagged and sharp

Piercing my skin deeply with every try to collect them

Maybe I’ll make a mosaic of them one day

And hopefully that image is as lovely as the vase used to be

(Photo by Fabien TWB on Unsplash)

Angel of Death by my Bedside (a poem)

The angel of death sits by my bedside
I stare into the vacuum of her eyes
I know for sure I’m being exiled
And she’s waiting for my demise

She comes to visit once a month
Brings me a bouquet of dead flowers
She always looks so stunned
That I’m awake at such late hours

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Hauntings in the Dawn (a poem)

Ghosts in this house make no sound
They are only around to watch
Flashing images of my mind
And extract memories from times
I dwell in forsaken chambers

They belabor the process of death
Let’s get it over with, we say,
Let’s kill these emotions during
The bright light of the day –
Instead of waiting for fire-soaked
Nights under harvest moons
And pastures of bitter gloom

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Long, Strange Decay (a poem)

Dead poets hang
from shrunken trees:
ring-a-ring-a-roses,
a pocket full of posies
,

singing dead songs,
lyrical flames ignite
numb corpses

Obsolete language from
skull faces, pensive troubadours:
satchels with free verse,
in a universe
devoid of logic

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What You’ve Done to Me (a poem)

Look what you’ve done to me
Glittery blood under my eyes
You ignored my desperate pleas
You hastened my demise

Why have you done this to me?
I’m now dead to the world
You tossed me in black seas
I drift in the netherworld

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