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 Aug 2017 Curt A Rivard Sr
To grieve over death

is one thing

But to smell death

To stand in the room

Where death goes once its dead

And see the eye cups

That are placed so the eyes don’t sink but seal

with adhesives.

The tools that cut the arteries

And the smell of the

formaldehyde that replaces

the blood that’s drained

And the small, clean blade that cuts the navel

And the garbage bag that reeks of

the stomach and intestines that get pumped out

Assortments of makeup that

Could cover bruises and burns

Or a blue or yellow face

All in this tiny, cold room

Where the lifeless go

When their vessel is wrought
 Feb 2017 Curt A Rivard Sr
I an going to the movies
would you like to go along
It will be scasry but fun
All these memories wii forever belong
Seconds slither as if Years,
Minutes meander like Months,
and Hours can hover for Weeks.
Days become what's done with them,
while Weeks can feel like Hours,
Months move by like Minutes,
and Years tick as if Seconds.

Yet, somehow,
it all surely adds up;
so, seek they all count.

Mortality is Time
on loan from the Universe/Tao/God/etc.
As per the contract that is blood,
the debt is to be paid in full and collected for the All
by none other than Death: among the more loyal of entities.
(Yes, harsher loan sharks than Death do exist!)

Point is:
Live it up while you can,
whatever that may mean to you.

It's not about softening the blow,
it's about leaving an impact.
Preferably a good one.

Ultimately, that choice-
that responsibility-
is wholly yours to bear.

Would you trust you?
Would you trust me?

Thus must One
tread lightly, yet decisively.

Pay attention
to each and every second,
whether on the outside or in.

By patience and self-discipline
One may come to see
Out and In are really One.

A perfect circle.

Choose to live,
don't just *be alive.
Twixt the lines,
circles beget spirals.
Spiral out. Keep going.

"To dismiss as 'Dark' is to eclipse what complementary Light!"

**** plunging short black dress,
Maroon lipstick, just so,
Perfume sprayed
Just a hint here, here and also here,
Clutching the purse
she steps out;
Entrapment laid.

There he awaits,
blinded by beauty and lust,
not aware
the trap has been set.

A light brush of cheeks,
perfume inhaled deeply,
Smitten, trapped.

Coyly smiling,
this is too easy, she thinks.
Death beckons us all
It is like change
Always present
Always a little frightening
Sometimes sad
A little threatening
Whomever you think your Maker is
Death will direct your soul to him/her/it
Whether you think you ascend to the heavens or
Become nutrient for trees
Each abiding just waiting
Life a living
Too much to bear
Too little sometimes
Through it all, I’ll hold your hand
I’ll be there
I’ll hold your hand
I’ll hold your hand
Narcissist I

Money questions hidden in cultures
Instead of debates, we have the vultures
They will overspend whatever their budget
Destroy years hard work, their odour pungent

Often called users, epiphytes of highest order
Those that cannot earn sufficient to quarter
Or manage their own, so they use others
Spending, unfettered, is their druthers

Cannot accept responsibility for damage
Continue to feast on their host, they ravage
Hollowing out from inside, funds they suction
Weakening the structure for eventual destruction

And weakened, debates then start about savings
Too late, funds gone, too late for the cravings
Absent conversation, leaves a bad situation
Long ago, train of debate left the station

What we have now is death and decay
All caused by silence, as the vultures flay
It will not be long until they seek a new host
Just when their former home needs them most

So leave they will, to claw the next poor victim
Removing their talons of love and devotion
Moving on, leaving behind just carcasses
Warm used bodies, mark of a narcissist
family matters
Stone silent drifting in the moment between sleep and awake
That is where we meet again
Even though my eyes are closed I see you clearly
As if you were still here with me, holding me tight

I feel the soft velvet touch of your hand on my cheek
Lost in this ghostly dream
Floating to the ceiling from a simple memory
Your body may be here no longer
But your energy, part of your heart remains with me.

Why can't I let you rest in peace
Why do I dream of you so much
In my thoughts day and night
Enamored by your ghost, tortured by time
As the night slips into day
Every bit of consciousness fades away
Flying and gliding into a realm of imagination and possibility
Deep down the rabbit whole I fall
Where perception becomes reality and anything can form
Infinity of choices, banquet of emotions flow freely as the expansion of the mind creates amazing atmospheres and glorious experiences.
My human body ceases to exist
The spirit has taken charge and the soul is exploring the vast abyss.
Dancing in the evening as a flame burning bright.
Lighting the darkness of this uncaring world.
Evolving into the warmth of a sunset, vibrant oranges and reds
As light and free as a cloud flowing through the open air
Drifting endlessly through the heavens.
Transforming into a beam of light.
Reflecting every face, every motion of the sea
Bouncing from surface to surface
Innocent and buoyant as a child jumping carefree on a trampoline on a warm summer day
Breathing in the fresh cut grace and blooming daisies.
Basking in the sensation of the breeze washing over my skin.
Blanketed in the comfort and security
Like a fuzzy quilt of love on a gloomy rainy morning
Or the embrace of a mother to her small child.
Poet by night, body embalmer by day,
Sealing the wounds,
Pulling the skin behind the ear, just so,
Perfect; nipped and tucked just right.

Poet by night,
Your vocation, I envy not,
When toes are tagged,
and you take over,
Masterpieces are created,
Each a wonder.

You stand back and stare
At your work divine
Master craftsman at work
“Please do not disturb!”

Still only a poet by night,
By and large, a creator by day!
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