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Arobeum 3d
I would write about you hundred times over till my breath is hitched,
And I no longer feel the blood in my veins.
I would remember your name even If i have alzheimer's disease.
Remember your every feel till I am numb and till death makes me sleep.
We met three times
Over fifteen years.
The disagreement paled
In light of his diagnosis.

He unexpectedly appeared
At my door, then stood in my kitchen.
He had a few serious questions
About brotherly affections,
And after spitting into my sink
(the poor man)
He wondered if I thought less of him
For not sending cards at Christmas and birthdays.
Is that what he came to say?

Next was at our last family wedding.
He was still steady on his feet.
We were five Irish lads.
The sisters said he was the handsome one.
He was.
There are six of us posing in this final shot.
He's wearing a Lucille Ball tie,
Losened around his neck,
Yet covering the gill-like scar
Running from lobe to lobe.
His hands are buried deep
In his pants' pockets.
His smile says Good-bye.

I saw him for the last time
A few weeks later,
Standing, bent and coughing
At the intersedtion of the roadway and Nature Trail.
His rib cage raging from contortions.
He waved off an offered ride.
And then he was gone.
It took us years to get here.
Sean Lynch, 1952-2019.
Flowerhead Nov 6
When you unfurled your wings,
A draft took you out of view.
Within the cools of these capes,
I still hear echoes of you.

How can you be love,
When loss is all, you’ve known.
My shadow crawls across your grave,
When will I learn to carry on?

In the cradle of earth,
Your skeleton will always smile.
At least you found your solace,
I hope death is treating you well.

You’re gone,
But somewhere else.
Within these thoughts,
I hold you close.

Now rest my dear…
MetaVerse Sep 28
You're in my head; you're in
          Like rabies.
I've got you under my skin,
          Like scabies.  

You're in my heart; you're heart-
          Attacking.
You crack me up.  I ****.
          I'm cracking.
James Sep 26
Sick with fever
Dreaming death
I come closer with every breath

Coughing red
I lament
Cursed plague, my life's now spent

Eyes are streaming
Chest is full
I can feel the Reaper's pull

The collectors call
"Bring out your dead!"
Pass me by, I'm not ready yet

One more breath
One more day
Oh Lord save me from the grave!

But the sores still weep
Yet I smile
Over here, one more for the pile
MetaVerse Sep 17
John Keats
Coughed tuberculosis all over his sheets
And died at 25
And remains unalive.
Carlo C Gomez Mar 13
Rarebit fiend

with an insatiable appetite

zapped internally

******* off wi-fi

looking for hideouts

and new gold wings

the brilliant glow

through a transom window

summons him

feeds on the sleeping man

programming him

into a pathogen
Hark and Come Hear Ye Here
Ye loyal subjects of the king
Reports from the borders of our principality
warn of a gruesome pestilence spreading unseen,
This devilish scourge of affliction is Coming!
Beware of the telltale signs of corruption
In the countenance of those under siege of this heretofore unknown malady.
It has been documented
by trusted physicians that certain aspects of one’s physiology
Will present themselves shortly
before the fever of madness and fear
Takes control.
Take Heed of thy neighbors
Behaviors and be wary of
Changes occurring in regards to
Their normal routine.
If boils or bleeding of orifices be
Witnessed report the citizen to the nearest authority
Once the outward expression of the putrification is upon them, it is but a fortnight until they succumb to the terrible fate of mortality. Those most beset by the pox of this plague are without exception in a state of aggravated nervous disorientation. Keep safe, keep your distance, and warn others around you of such individuals afflicted, lest ye contract the pox, for there is as yet no alchemical remedy

Be wary of these ghouls wandering the streets
Muttering manically, wreaking of decay, flailing and gnashing their teeth in a rage.
If one of the accursed creatures approaches, It is a mortal encroachment ye must evade.
Make right with the lord and keep the faith, our souls stand for judgment, ensure yours will be saved.

Take heed of these warnings here given this day.

They are not to be ignored if you wish to survive
12-27-23

For decades I’ve had this internal fantasy that I’m a bearer of the plague, not patient zero but on of the early infected, a vector of an unknown catastrophe. I got really sick. This was a fun thing. (Not being sick, writing a silly poem)
The good ole days were enjoyed with ease,
There was less to enjoy because of disease;
There were fewer people to dress and feed
Thanks to childhood mortality.


The middle-class were few and greedy,
Thanks to needs and poverty;
We could find work and be employed,
But tenure turned to workplace injury.

Illiteracy was common,
Innumeracy, our fate,
Due to the high school drop out rate.

Polio and smallpox kept in check
The burgeoning growth of the unelect.

Minorities knew their social place;
Jim Crow was voting in black face.

Heteros ruled the ****** race,
Alphabet people were an outlier trace.

In summer and winter we were outplayed and beat,
With no Air Conditioning nor Central Heat.

Let's leave the past in the past,
Where history belongs;
Where hunger and sickness
Lasted all life-long,
And the poor and ignorant
Were subdued by the strong.

We can agree times were simpler then,
As time came rushing to an end.
Alphabet people are LGBTQA+
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