I’ve always had this fantasy
That if you die and go to Heaven
You’re not aware of earthly things
But if somebody left below
Should think of you, a bell rings.

A bell that only you can hear
With such lovely tinkling sound
A bell that tells you someone cared
That someone’s thinking of your smile,
Remembering the times you’ve shared.

Other Angels all around
Are doing what the angels do
Then one will stop and tilt her head
And you know that she’s hearing things
And smiling with the joy it brings.
ljm

By: Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2022.

I’m closer to death
Than I ever was before
But I’m not letting that
Bother me anymore
One day sooner or later
Death and me will meet
And he’ll lay his mantel
At my feet

Then whisper forcefully
Come with me
To a land beyond
What you presently see
Where you will be
For eternity
In a grave
With an endless fraternity

From me ya see
There’s no escape
Once I cover you
In my velvet drape
And take you to
A new landscape
Where your future
Will begin taking shape

Whether it will be
Heaven or hell
Only God up above
Can actually tell
After His angel
Rings your death knell
And you have been faced
With your final bell








Cedric McCleser, Copyright © 2022.  All rights reserved.

We are the poor.
We have no wealth.
Don't ask about our mental health
In fact walk past us.
Don't ask why
Just do not look us in the eye
Especially if you knew us before
When we wore socks and brushed our teeth
And hadn't given up and sank beneath
The awful maelstrom in our brain
Of fear, pain and damning shame.

We are the shadow people
But I see you,
And I know that you have shadows too.

When the day is finally through,
And there is little else to do,
I shall watch the sun go down,
And colours lighting up the town.

Red, green, yellow, white and blue,
Neon and oil and candles too,
On streets, in parks and houses all,
When night makes its gentle call.

Then I will off to please my mind,
In a quiet place that I can find,
With drink in hand to sit me down,
And sip the colours of the town.

Haven’t seen you writing in a while
Been stuck inside your brain
Painting pictures of your pain
The thing is your not a painter
None of it makes sense

Your supposed to be a writer
You  threw away your pen
Haven’t seen you writing since
Angry for no reason
Shouting at the wall

Started a fire in your apartment
When you set fire to your poems
Fire department said you were lucky
Landlord evicted you
So you live back home with your mom

She tells her friends “your recovering”
They say “from drinking?”
She says, “No, from art.”
Your not yourself anymore
Not without your work

You write from time to time
A word may escape from your mind
Find its way to paper
Only to find itself alone
Thrown away back into the void

To ash and stolen
Our home among the stars
No retaliation
Even escape but a distant dream
Though by sheer grace
Did some survive
Scattering themselves far and wide
Among the ever twilight cosmos
One day I know they will return
They must!
For in them lies the spark
The last remaining hope
Of a humanity without a home