You’ll find them in all such establishments,
(Be they graceful small-town former Victorian homes,
Or cinderblock edifices mindful of some campus multi-faith center)
Sitting in the basement, cheek-to-jowl
With moldering burial records and banking statements,
Yellowed newspaper clippings, faded prayer cards
Small squared-off boxes hastily tabbed together,
Ostensibly temporary containers which have acquired
An unintended and wholly unwelcome permanence.
The whys and wherefores of their subterranean placement
A mixed bag of foible and outright foolishness:
Unresolvable squabbles concerning possession and burial,
Families that skipped out on the bill, leaving mom behind,
Cases of outright not giving a good-*******.
And so they remain, in lieu of repatriation and redemption,
To sit for something akin to perpetuity in some cases
(Members of the profession resolute in their respect
For the dignity of life,
Though their sincerity enjoys less unanimity)
While others wait for mass burial
Once legal niceties have been satisfied,
While still others, in care of firms not so scrupulous
About crossing their t’s and dotting their i’s,
Are flung, albeit somewhat surreptitiously, out the back door,
The remains to take flight if the grass is dry and the wind is brisk,
Otherwise to be left to the vagaries
Of curious birds and creped soles.

The memory seems more like a never ending dream. Actually, it is a nightmare replaying constantly in my head.  I close my eyes and that’s all I can see.  Even after all these years. It’s like someone got a red-hot brander and seared the inside of my brain with it. I tried to drown the memories out, but they always have a way of crawling back up to the surface. Its something I have to deal with for the rest of my life.
      I can’t help but look into the cold, blank eyes. The last time I saw them, they were a bright, beautiful, blue and gleaming with potential. But that dramatically changed. Now all that’s left is a hollow, dead stare from a stranger I use to know. I feel goose bumps rise all over my body. My hand rests on her cold, stiff shoulder. How long has she been here? Her porcelain skin was already beginning to have a bluish tint creep across it. I know it’s too late, but I try to shake her and call her name hoping for a miracle. The pools of scarlet collecting around her head quiet that hope and desperation. It’s a silent reminder that’s there’s no way to fix this, that the deed is done. It something I’ll have to deal with for the rest of my life.
      Tears stream down my cheeks; I can’t seem to make myself move from that spot to get help. It felt like I was frozen in time looking at the empty shell of a fallen friend. She picked the time that she was left all alone to succumb to her poisonous thoughts. Her mother was away on business, her brother was at his shift for work and she and I weren’t speaking at the time.  She probably truly felt alone. Still, I should have known this was going to happen.  We got into a huge fight a few days before all of this happened. She was upset with me because I brought up how her self-destructive behavior will impact her greatly in the future and how she should talk to a professional for help in order to fix her deep seeded emotional trauma. Unfortunately, she took this as a sign of me abandoning her in her time of need.  That was on a Thursday. She didn’t speak to me for two days, I received word from other people that she was abusing substances and self-harming yet again. That’s when I was fed up with this petty argument and went to go clear things up with her and try to help. I’ll never forget the day I walked to her house that Sunday afternoon.  When I got there, the door was unlocked so I knew she was home. I called for her, but didn’t get an answer. A pang of worry creped in the pit of my stomach. I raced up the stairs to her room and saw her motionless body at her desk…
      I hear the front door open and someone coming up the stairs. It was her older brother. I call to him in broken sobs. He rushes in and freezes as I did, taking in the sight. He calls 911 and runs to her side, crying. It seems like endless hours of waiting for help to arrive. As we wait he pulls her in his arms and cries uncontrollably asking how and why she did this. I look up at the desk and fine two letters; one has my name on it. I pick it up and slide it into my coat pocket. When the police arrived with the ambulance, they took the other letter for evidence. After she was removed from the room, the officer asked her brother and I questions then left us alone in her room.
      I stayed with him that night. He called their mom and she was on the first flight back. The entire night he and I just sat on the couch silent. We both felt numb. My best friend, his sister is dead.  After his mom got back home, she set up a funeral for her daughter. She avoided the news and paper by having a small gathering for family only. I was never given the chance to say goodbye to my friend. Instead I just sat in my room with her letter gripped tightly in my hands.
      Fast forward a few years and I’m in my bed writing this very story. I still keep the letter, but it still remains sealed. Maybe someday I’ll have the courage to open it and read her last thoughts for me but for now, it stays hidden safe in my drawer. I still stay in touch with her brother, and we both continue to heal over time. The memories will always stay with us though. It’s something we’ll just have to deal with. Now I know that she did what she had to do in order to finally have peace. She felt there was no other way. I just wished she held out for  a little bit longer to see that life may be hard but it does get better and its worth fighting for. If I learned anything from that experience, it’s that. She taught me the value of life. She taught me to always be strong and not to cave into the pressures and struggles life brings. Because of her, I am the person I am today, and she will always remain in my heart.

There exist nothing that roots me to this earth
The only thing that stops me from taking my life is the trouble it would be worth
Money paid for service and a creped box
The time spent and lost of the attended 'loved ones'
I guess until I find a way to bury myself outside of metaphoric rhymes
I will continue to exist and write these lines

Words left unspoken
Pain left unbearable
Time that's irretrievable
A life that's unlivable

Where words were left unspoken, time continuously creped away becoming yet a memory.
The pain makes life unlivable.
The knife that cut her skin left scars - still a constant reminder of the pain unbearable.

He came here, and said, in passing,
“The town meeting was adjourned
due to the tower.” The expanding
image of the tower, and the shadow

of the adjournment creped and dovetailed,
until dissolving perceptions at the periphery
changed into what remained of the familiar
and washed away in diminishing September

twilight tributaries of great modern rivers, now
adjured, now forgotten. But, despite adjudication
and adjustment, a question remained, became a
void in the forest, flattened its shadow, biding its time.

As we watch
the world change
before our very
eyes without
knowing and
understanding
what is really
going on.
In slow motion
like a movie,
it takes all of us
by surprise.
Slowly like the
anaconda creped
in for the ****.
Everyone seems
blind to see the
Thucydides trap.
We blink to it's  
brightness as it
shines before us.
The rising Nachi and
the dominant Ricaame,
now towards a
violent collision
no one wants.
The sun shines
so brightly and
the new world
order in place,
perfectly penetrating
into the socioeconomic
system of the world
with excellent smoothness.
We can summon
the common sense
and courage to avoid it.
Understanding power play
gives us the
reasons we as
citizens of the world
should understand and
challenge the power that be.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved

wake
that one
eye may find
in your creped hip
in your rippled spine
in your slumber damp palm
in your night braided tresses
in your too hot for sleep dresses
on the floor with caresses and socks
reason to stand against time's august clocks

Fixated dross entranced
floating maladroits' delusions
vacuous visions in arousals
fantasizing present stupors
stunted senses in disarray  
excitable dimness
foraging insignificance

Veracity exclusion zones programed
finding solace in asinine malaise
puerile aroma
reeking in hooligans rank lairs
dives and caves opened
damaged felons
in cuddled spite
the woes of misspent lives

From birth
creepers and crawlers
creped and crawled in lacking grace
dripping in muck from the cesspool
to become
bottom feeders destined cannon fodders
matched with *******
jiving vibes with no veracity
the dance of minions
bang wallop see you later
in essence easily replaced by a vibro
the come easy go easy
just give the baby
welfare will do the rest

Dopes musings flow
in ambiversion.
ignorance flourish ingloriously
in perpetuity
rooted in custom
and tradition
streert vendors
hawking bile
the panacea of the
discontent and disgruntled
Pen's river runs
barrier to the inferiors
the wound is open and raw