"deathbeds" poems
Clothes have outgrown me many times over,
but this sadness never does.
One size.
fits all.
There should have been an obituary for cancer, not you.
Wishing these slits within my skin could have been
replaced by a reality check from you, “You chose to exist.”
My name causes a sigh to escape from lips,
that do not feel like they belong to me,
the girl,
whose words always had to be special.
The schematics of hospitals like a birthmark in my brain,
born into sadness, a gut feeling as a child.
Never trusting time
due to what it delivers.
Death, being the only thing I desired.
But you,
who I love,
endlessly-
robbed by it.
Whose ebb for life glowed so feverishly.
Stopped comparing depression to lace,
restricted the belief that suicide is poetic,
seeing things as they were.
More often than not, applauded for feeling emotions deeply.
Every second that dies, the shift of my heart quakes.
This world is not tender.
II. Sad.
I have known the flowers I wanted at my own premature funeral,
knowing how many bouquets honored you that day.
split open my veins like a dimension
reminiscent of days where I anticipated deathbeds.
My family wondered,
can we make it through another day?
Death scares me for what it has taken,
yet, I’m not afraid to die-
it’s all I deserve.
So I await the day pain erupts
from my throat,
acknowledging the days a soul
lived inside of my body-
footprints that walked,
belonging to me.
But I learned so well.
How to suffer with a smile,
dreading the beating of my heart
how unfair—
I don’t want to take these deep breaths
You deserved,while I masquerade as a member of the undead
Never outgrowing the desire to rot with the phantoms residing under my bed.
III. Jokes played by the universe.
punchlines delivered,
how could anyone to stand to be in the same room as myself?
How could anyone look over skyscrapers and sunsets,
and not be infatuated with concrete consuming them?
How I shared a sigh of relief during the thought-
of knowing people would thrive without me,
or the power of a belly laugh,
resembling a laugh track audience
drowning out 3 AM suicidal thoughts.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 11:23 PM UTC
Fear too is an epidemic, it stretches out like
An incubation period for a kind of doom
Population control, whispered a silent elite
Who engineer our wallets, our GMO food, our futures
Ebola was a convenient way, of making us fear
Who we once were again, black as a Nigerian
We died alone in deathbeds, isolated plastic containers
For who we once were, our organs giving out
Infection was a spider hand, MSM gave us
False positives, but could the main-stream-media
Be trusted any longer? Wasn’t this just a matter
Of time, an algorithm set loose upon the billions?
Fear is that place, where people go in adversity
It’s hypnotic like an audience at a concert
It’s contagious how the will for self-preservation can spread
Fight of flee, but where to run, out of the cities?
The new normal is a kind of paranoia
While we watch the situation very closely
Every hour there is underground news about
Another case in another country, Ebola isn’t
Your grandmother that only likes good climates
She’s an engineered hypothesis of how mobility
Causes any true pandemic to become a flamboyant outbreak
The comet that signals black plagues has been seen
Fear too is a weapon, when you can’t stop the world
Because it’s too costly to do so, and you can’t
Tell the world not to fly because we’re too free
We left Africa a long time ago, but who among us
Would stand 20 meters from their open graves?
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 9:22 AM UTC
I think about old faces, you were a friend to me then
I try to think harder though, where have those memories been?
More faces coming through, sticking less with every pass
I can't say that I would hope that these new memories last.
Not in a sad time, not stuck in a place of hurt.
I just feel like I can't remember the good times to weigh the worth.
These new times, are something hollow, empty and void of feeling
No sleepless nights, but I find my self always staring towards the ceiling
So revealing, makes me notice my true emotions deep inside
Always telling jokes and laughing but right now we rewind.
I think about old faces, you were a friend to me then
I try to think harder though, where have those memories been?
More faces coming through, sticking less with every pass
I can't say that I would hope that these new memories last.
People say memories fade, others say memories last
I'd like to think that I could leave memories in the past
I don't want to cling to them like that's the only thing I have
But is it really bad? I guess you can say I'm home sick
Not missing my residence but missing where I've been
Reminiscing about the things that I have left on my journey
But they're not on their deathbeds, they're just on a gurney
Now do I save them, make sure that they are never forgotten?
If they start to fade for new memories should I stop them?
I feel like I need to answer quick, like I'm running out of time
I could keep stressing but right now, we rewind.
I think about old faces, you were a friend to me then
I try to think harder though, where have those memories been?
More faces coming through, sticking less with every pass
I can't say that I would hope that these new memories last.
I miss the days where I didn't have to miss my days
Where I could express myself in different ways
But this is today. Prattling words to my self
Not sharing my feelings, not sharing the wealth
I vent in stealth, not letting all the friends of me hear it
As if I'm ashamed, like I think my enemy is my spirit
You're hearing me in these lyrics, I'm embodied in the words you see
This is me in these lyrics, feelings and words, you see?
So if you're feeling my words, that means you're feeling me
So if you think that I'm a clown, this is the realest me
So this is real you see, no false words from the mind
I could keep on going but right now, we rewind.
I think about old faces, you were a friend to me then
I try to think harder though, where have those memories been?
More faces coming through, sticking less with every pass
I can't say that I would hope that these new memories last.
Where does the time go? I feel it slipping by me
I feel like my biggest problem now is I keep rewinding
So you may find me, reminiscing about the time before
Or catch me on a good day and I'll be rhyming more
Keeping myself in good spirits, while I find the path
Watching my life just add up, because well, life is math
Memories fade, because we subtract those things from the past
But it only happens to us, because we have something to add
So nothing is bad. Memory? I'll live all the good times with it in me
How much space do I have for the good times? Infinity.
No more time to rewind, I guess I have nothing left to say.
I guess the only thing left to do now is. Press Play.
Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 11:07 AM UTC
i
girls with guard dogs at spike-heeled feet
lips to kiss fire, still semi-sweet
ii
dirt black coffee on a fine tipped tongue
and spiderwebs only half unspun
iii
dead roses in flowercrowns and tangled thorns
and white bedsheets, handcuffs, lingerie unworn
iv
tempest springtime to summer’s rest
and flowers of lovers laid on deathbeds
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 1:59 PM UTC
It’s strangely busy around the deathbeds,
as well it’s my last nightshift of the year.
I try to make no noise, can you hear me?
Push my hand, if you can, move a limb.
Your breath is so slow, please keep going,
monitors flash in time with the ventilator.
I’ll control the pupils, I know it’s blinding.
No one goes with their sparkling old eyes,
we are usually fading before we are dying.
Dec 17, 2021
Dec 17, 2021 at 2:22 AM UTC
sara left me on the 14th of may,
while my mentor laid dying,
while my debt went unpaid.
over routine coffee and cigarette,
she watched the flimsy fabric
of my flesh
catch flame.
she floated away
to ricochet off summer lions,
whose pride lies between their
worn thighs.
i planted heavy.
aged a century in a week of
wine, infomercials, and hospital
calls.
every mutual friend i asked
about sara's condition,
told me to leave her be,
cast me in creep status.
my beard grows gnarly.
my smoldered remnants
held together by cobwebs.
and everything i ever loved
is on its deathbed.
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 11:33 PM UTC
Growing up and knowing you give me sighs of bliss,
Didn't you say we're Patroclus and Achilles?
That we are one soul abiding in two bodies,
Just for you, my best friend, I will make a promise.
You said that if Patroclus' fate's same with mine,
You'll try to make Achilles' fate same with thine
Our corpse lying next to each other would be sign,
Of a true, intimate friendship that is sublime.
Bringing those memories we made in Macedon,
The celebrations of battles we've always won,
I never lost, because I'm with you, Hephaestion,
My only defeat's when I lost you and you're gone.
I am just a general, and you are a king,
We have this love, but this love can do us nothing,
Love is not all that both of us will be needing,
You need an heir, we need wives we'll be marrying.
But even though now I have an heir and a wife,
It would be still you and me in the afterlife,
Even if it means I will be stabbed by a knife,
I'd love you, even this kind of love is not rife.
But even if we died and left this world early,
In separate deathbeds, we made love intimately,
Even if I made my last hurrah without thee,
You kept that promise, that nobody promised me.
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 8:57 AM UTC
For God so loved the World…
Why? How? Does He see the same World that we live in everyday? Do His eyes see the same people? I cannot believe that they do…
We are everything that He is not, complete opposites in every way.
We are ignorant and arrogant. We see something beautiful and immediately cut it to pieces to find out what makes it so radiant. We are hateful and self-centered, thinking only of ourselves even alongside the deathbeds of others. We are destructive and self-absorbed. We only help the needy for a tax credit and a clear conscience.
We curse and condemn and never give our actions a second thought. We tear each other down to build ourselves up.
We lie and we cheat and we steal and we **** We torture and torment in the name of boredom. We rob and we pillage and we **** and we raze, leveling the achievements of our own for the temples of posterity.
We live in a world where dog eats dog and beasts eat God, and He goes on, loving us just the same. How? How can anyone love something that is so perverse; so malignant? We burn what we do not understand to ash instead of observing and wonder why our neighbors stockpile gasoline and flame retardant clothing…
Love thy neighbor as thyself and hate each other, it’s alright, as long as you hate yourself for being like your neighbor and hate your neighbors for being like you.
We are the worst that the universe has to offer, yet the creator of all has still decided to bestow his love upon us? Why? How must His eyes see our wicked race to continue to feel that way? We are nothing more that wicked mud, and deserving of nothing more than a harsh drought followed by unending windstorms.
Bring on the sun and the winds. Wipe this plague from the face of the Earth. She will not miss us, just as your neighbors will not miss you.
But please, dear God, do not stop loving us, for we are merely children with money, nuclear toys and a strong dependency on anti-depressants, and we know not what we do.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 3:05 AM UTC
a brief confession:
until now,
i have written my best friend into a storybook heroine, untouchable
and our friendship one of puzzle pieces falling in place perfectly
i love her beyond words
and love makes you romanticize everything
but i want to show the truth
because incredibly, it is even more brilliant
sure, we have the happy story of meeting in summer camp, bonding over crafts and a shared love of books
and in most ways, what we have is simple and pure and obvious
but in all honesty, our true bond was not born in beauty or the sunlight
it was born ****** fighting, and dangling by its umbilical cord over a bottomless abyss
see, we were first stitched together in battle
opposite sides of a wound that drained us of tears and dark poetry
emptying pens stolen from a slate-eyed boy whose skin never seemed to be fully closed
we were surgery in a brightly lit, white-walled classroom
taking turns as his dialysis machine
until one day, we finally looked up
and realized he was stealing all our oxygen
on the homefront we were dissection victims,
perfectly preserved insides laid out for the world to see
so that no one would think to look for the secrets hidden beneath our sharp tongues
we were ***** donor and receptor,
and she gave me bone-marrow strength
in return for my rib-cage to cradle her overworked heart
both of us breathing heavily from the same pair of tired lungs
we were bandages on each other's wrists,
painfully tight tourniquets to keep our souls from leaking out with the blood
we were interlocked fingers between our deathbeds
and silence on either end of the telephone
too afraid to speak the truth aloud
but even more afraid of hanging up
instead letting our quietness drown out the silence
other times, we were barely contained sobs in a 2am voicemail
we were long periods of no contact
passive-aggressive silence
bottled anger that was too heavy to carry for long
over reasons we no longer remember
yes,
our connection was held together by bruised knuckles, scarred skin
but though it was often ugly and rough and messy
it also saved my life
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 4:33 AM UTC
All written on the calendar
Crumbling in my pocket
Is only a forsaken air
Of the Sometimes you scribbled
And all the photographs
Hanging since the execution
Serve as the deathbeds
For our soon-to-be autumn
There is no red thread
Falling from the sky tonight
Just a stained glass I forgot
To put back in order at last
I have no watch
Slithering around my wrist
For time has escaped your fate
And I shall be in charge
All for myself
I am out here only to remind you
That our eyes are only as rough
As the heart long shredded
You comforted them with knives instead
The eyes we used to pair
Never peer into the lonely couch
That sung old ballade
Together no longer
And in our last supper at this foul home
I have seen nothing of the love
On your half-painted dinner plate
Or the hope you incinerated behind my head
But I have missed you
Too far alone
Under these cold empty tables
Godforsaken
I am out here only to remind you
That our eyes are as big
As the heart you’ve demolished
That is now rising from the dead
And with that
I can only see the world
The way you forgot
Our last prayer before bed
Ah,
I’m leaving home
Watch out for the stars
They are lone wolves
Feasting on others
No one is home,
I have set ablaze
All the forlorn dolls
You have loved
You will never go back
And I shall do the same
No one is home,
The windows are barred
The hearts are locked
And the walls are full of corpse
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 3:20 AM UTC
I know I can't help them
So why do you try
Why do you spend hours
Awake at night
Why do you tremble
Why do you scream
The pain isn't yours
It's not what it seems
You stand there alone
Starfish in hand
You try and and throw far
But it stays on the land
Your arm becomes sore
Your heart becomes tired
Even your conscious
Is no longer wired
You're breaking alone
Deathbeds begun
But everything's worth it
If I can save one
Aug 6, 2025
Aug 6, 2025 at 12:13 AM UTC
These golden lights that dance upon
Cast from the amber montage of the autumn leaves
Through their colors they vivify us below
And with a graceful fall, sweet death they greet
And as they lie on their deathbeds
The vibrant bed they form for thee
This tragic beauty worthy of a tale divine
Their fate, our feet it meets.
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 3:05 PM UTC
i feel much safer with animals
than people, i tend
to close off
when i'm scared
of crowds
or
another human being
and
what's going to happen
in an encounter
that is real
and somewhere along the deathbeds
i forgot any other way to be
i guess it is the unreal i'm afraid of
life seems long, it's not
real or nothing
that's all i can survive
silence i can do
but true
silence
not the silence
barb-wired
with lies
denial cannot keep death away
and in the meantime
suffocates life
god has gotten this
longtime prodigal-thief,
petri dish
of strange
and deadly
parasites,
ready to be
alive
ready to be part of a revolution
of values, a conversation
of justice, a
consciousness
of peace
and
love
despair
and fear-of-failing
have broken my legs and back and neck
for long enough,
i do everything
knowing
i will fail
and that's okay
because you know
this really is not about me,
not at all
i'm ready to be happily lost
in the jungle of life
because i am
happily found
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 9:47 PM UTC
contrive to be the one
standing at the center
to be the one in the limelight
and high society gives you a warm welcome
with a practiced hand you
manipulate the air
to produce the wind
and it blows cold right thru my soul
and i know that i am no longer welcome
in the great halls
in the family's kitchens
in the fields of maidens
with a professional eye
line up the targets
to resemble me
and people think that its so charming
but i taste the poisons in your unseeing glances
i sense the malice in your every gesture
its in your shoe print
in the sand of some woman's ****** shore
its in the words you scrawled on the headstones
of scared churches
laughing with filth in your dark soul
its in the deathbeds of the trail of victims
you have left behind every doomed road you travel
with a cage round your eye
you think to keep
your intent within
but it seeps clear like a river
of dirt and death
and falls to the silk ground
and curls there like a viper
i must flee you
because i see you
your no Prussian prince
your tyranny in the satin sheets
your a well trained assassin with a clean glove
covering the lepers touch underneath
i must flee
i must flee
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 4:51 AM UTC
they say that after awhile,
words start to lose their meaning.
"i love you"
"i'm sorry"
"i'm sober."
you told us that you've been sober for four years,
and that statement was more empty than the glass bottles in your closet.
more empty,
than the pill bottles in my dresser drawer.
my mom never looks me in the eyes,
i think it's because if she did it would make her feel like he never left,
she says i'm just like him,
that the reason my body is a tornado on fire circulating around this earth
is because i was genetically predisposed to disaster.
if only she knew,
that i swallow pills because the line between intoxication and love
becomes as blurry
as his vision after trading places with the bottle,
that i understand the comfort of not being the only thing that's empty at the table.
sometimes my heart feels like it's a volcano,
ready to erupt out of my chest,
like there is lava in my bloodstream.
some days the pills make me feel like i'm playing a game of russian roulette,
except the possibility of death has never been enough for the addict to change.
probably because when they're sober the only thing they want more than to be high is to be dead.
and maybe being farther away from the ground
distracts them from the fact
that they are walking on the surface of their deathbeds.
and no, i am not scared to die,
i am scared that i will live long enough to follow his legacy,
that the only time i will ever feel love is when my body surrenders to the bottle.
that i will only know love as the shadow casted by intoxication.
that one day i will spin out of control,
and set flame to everyone i love.
mom,
"i love you,"
"i'm sorry,"
"i'm sober,"
except she has played this game of two truths and a lie before.
Dec 18, 2018
Dec 18, 2018 at 2:13 AM UTC
COVID-19
It has changed all the lives it hasn’t yet claimed
Too many deathbeds held souls in empty spaces
Innocent, isolated individuals
With their visitors crying in the hospital parking lot instead of their hospital room
As if goodbye wasn't hard enough
It has changed the way we grow
Children won't know how to share
Instead they will have “disinfect” ingrained in their young brains
Carrying hand sanitizer like a shield, a barrier against the germs
Taught to fear others as though they’ll **** us themselves
It has changed the way we consume
Online shopping to the point we don't remember what's in packages
Spending money we don't have
Sanitized carts and Purell at every entrance of the stores that have opened
Grocery shopping sparks anxiety like never before
It has changed the way we love
Zoom calls and FaceTimes are as connected as we can get
The inability to remember what it feels like to be in another's arms
We stand six feet apart, not knowing how to act
Trying to read the millions of emotions held within each others eyes
It has changed how we dress
Forgetting where you've placed your mask is just as bad as your keys
Face covers scream isolation
Smothering smiles, turning us all into faceless creatures
But somehow the mere thought of the pandemic feels more suffocating
It has changed the way we exist
Instilling a new fear into the next generation
A new urgency in the medical field
And overall, a new norm that makes unity unbelievably uncomfortable.
S.S.
Sep 11, 2020
Sep 11, 2020 at 4:04 PM UTC
The other day I was offered a cigarette and I simply shook my head.
I watched my friends light theirs between chapped lips, with a piece of menthol candy wrapped in plastic on their other hand.
With their wrists bent and their mouths open, I observed them inhale and exhale cancer, as I welcomed it into my nostrils.
I refused because I despised the idea of being the center of attention and I recall the vendor looking at me with her wrinkled forehead, wondering if I would agree to my "first" cigarette. And I didn't.
Yet in return I felt eyes looking at me, speaking to me, saying things like "That was uncool of"
I remember immensely focusing on the ashes that departed from the sticks and staring at them as they crashed into the muddy waters.
Every flick and drag was a subtraction of the overall years planned ahead for them. A part of me wished I could be in their shoes,
Because they were a step ahead of me, dragging them closer to their deathbeds.
Frankly, I thought of dying way more than any of them.
I am the one who is supposed to be nicotine infused, I should be the one composed of soon-to-be cancer cells and packs of cigarettes for future use.
Yet I stood there, slowly becoming a victim and a product of their secondhand smoke and abuse.
n.j.
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC
The rat-terrier
that I’d loved for
over a decade
has been dead for
awhile now.
Sometimes I miss that dog.
Sometimes I miss cigarettes.
My America is now
the go-to destination
for the suicide-bomber
or
The Mass-Shooting Machine
All of this national abomination
has become all too normal.
&
why is any of this
at all attached,
in any way,
to our
Easter-Sunday-Church-Going
morals?
Tragedy,
a travesty,
trustworthy humans.
-untrue-
mistrustful,
unworthy misogynist,
malcontents
lacking empathy.
Unpaid checks,
no gravity -
a lacking of grateful
hearts.
Our ears destined,
designed, dedicated to hearing
only the hurtful,
instead of the healing.
On the take -
take or be taken
fake or be faking-
make or be made-
scapegoated,
goaded into submission
leaving
us wondering
just what,
exactly is so bad
about hate.
I mean everyone’s doing it these days;
and no one seems to be doing it wrong.
Maybe that’ll change
once we’re on our
deathbeds.
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications 2021
Apr 14, 2021
Apr 14, 2021 at 7:05 PM UTC
I see lines of you in the silhouettes of the scurf of a world without you
I hear your voice calling my name:
In empty hallways,
Serenades,
And odes written on deathbeds,
Declaring that your final words should "I love you"
And as I lie dow unfamiliarly in a bed without you,
I curl up and imagine that you are here,
And as I drive back to you-- home, across dark landscapes,
The headlights of the oncoming traffic reflect off my glasses and beam through dark air,
And your voice calls my name one final time in the lonely hotel room behind me
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 11:43 PM UTC
I once saw my mother holding her marriage in her hands. It was delicate, with much reverence. She knew that she must be careful not to breathe to heavily for fear of breaking it or scaring it away, but at the same time, refused to leave it so bad that she could scream. Praying to her own messiah, she bribed with soul-less joints, offering her conscience to anything.
My father now waits; waits for something he always knew would never come. He's not sure he believes in anything. And he's not sure he believes in nothing... except himself, and a forgotten, out-of-style sense of principle. He lies awake at night, dreaming of what never happened, continually patient for that one moment when what he's been so anxiously waiting for doesn't come. And in that moment, he will say that he never meant it.
Sometimes breathing only makes it worse.
For those who wait, deathbeds never arrive.
My fingers have found each other and I...
just them.
Raised by wolves, I wander
about the land, seeking bones and
solutions.
Never trying, never failing.
Aug 8, 2010
Aug 8, 2010 at 9:03 PM UTC
"hi there,
I'm here to confirm your death
this is your last chance- speak now or forever hold your peace!"
(writes ‘patient lying in bed with eyes closed. no signs of life. identity confirmed.')
"i'm just going to perform a few tests
can you hear me? (she shakes them, inflicts one final pain)
does this hurt?"
(writes 'no response to verbal cues or supraorbital pressure')
"i'm just going to have a listen in to your chest"
their heart is finally still
not broken, or aching
lungs empty,
forever breathless
(writes 'no heart or lung sounds on auscultation, no carotid pulse on palpation')
“i’m just going to shine a wee light into your eye)
she pries open their lids and looks for life,
finds the same every time
empty tunnels gazing above
eyes wide open, taking in what comes next
what horror? what wonder?
(writes 'pupils fixed and dilated')
“that’s us all done now, they’ll take you down to the morgue”
uttered to a body waxy and fixed
often warm
hands held by so many
now forevermore empty
('death verified at/on')
and then-
she strokes their hair, the way their mother did as they were laid in her arms
gently closes their eyes
traces a cross on their foreheads
tucks them into their deathbeds
leaves them to sleep
God, have mercy, on this your child
God, be kind
I hope you are at peace
Be at peace
Apr 23, 2025
Apr 23, 2025 at 3:14 PM UTC
8:47PM
Why is life worth more than death? Why is life more important than death? Why have we deemed death so bad? Does it get its negative reputation because its unknown? Because it's different ? because it's not something we can dabble in? We value life and despise death but without death life could not be. We exist because of life & death. They are one not two. We are scared of death because we are unsure of it; time ,time is a concept created by us to a sense of organization a sense of control in our lives. We do this for the future, we work , we study, we save , all for the future. But when is the future? Will it ever come? When will this utopia of a future end? How will we know when this future has come? We live towards a future we work for a future , we believe we have time until the future. But what if the future never comes? The future is the biggest lie life tells. The future is nonexistent. The future will never come. And when we are in our deathbeds we regret not living because we were supposed to “live” in the future. But the future never arrived and death came too soon. We accuse death of ruining our lives but did we ever live? If we spent our time working for this lie of a future we never got to live in the time we did have. We merely survived. Should we stop surviving and start living instead? Should we give up our focus on this utopia of a future?
From childhood we have been condition to live life for the future. As kids we start imagining , planning this wonderful future. But for many that future will never come. They would die before they got to really start living-
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 10:37 PM UTC
Seed...
...placed , watered in the soil
With the hope, of Turing into
'Tree'
Seed...
...Forming cotyl
... That eventually differentiates
In epicotyl & hypocotyl
To turn into a leafy stem,
And a fibrous root to be...
Stem...
Growing, developing
...Into a bigger one indeed!
Gradually, happily forming leaves!
Bifurcating into two and many branches to be....
Roots...Helping the stem
Stem... Helping roots
growing in water & sunny heat.
Stems...Now branches
Branches...Now leafy branches
Happily exhibiting their grape green leaves!
The leaves, being a proud elements
Of the latter tree to be,
Working, dedicating,
All their energy
To fulfill their needs.
But oh! These leaves,
These generous ones indeed,
Are unaware , so unaware
Busy working days and nights,
Devoid of greed.
They rejoice at the tree yielding its fruits,
They rejoice when the tree ripens it's fruits,
they rejoice, when these see birds and beasts,
Relishing how yummiliciously sweet it is.
It all passes,
Never worrying them about grosses.
The young leaves come,
And greener it becomes.
And the old grow pale,
Time for the fall.
The tree grows big,
So happy in its veil
Carefree about the leaves,
Who toiled night & day
Growing pale & pale
Pale enough
To even Carbon dioxide's inhale.
Seeing the tree who no more cares,
Fruits & seeds, busy pampered & care d,
They get one thing,
We all should sing,
Nature gives what
It one day takes,
We came from it
Will one day be it's waste.
What is so ours,
Isnt really ours,
Time rules,
And nature mocks!
Oh humans,
Oh birds,
Oh women,
Oh men,
Listen, listen,
As I won't repeat it again,
Hope, hope as much as you can,
But never expect as you always can!
As Hope takes high,
But Expectations drain.
For nature gives,
For nature takes.
It makes you young,
To work most of what you can!
It makes you old,
To live your last lost plans.
Enjoy this life,
As much as you can,
Enjoy what comes,
Regregreting not your pasts 'I cans'.
Care for you as much as you can,
Know, know that somebodydy else will
But nobody forever can!
I'm now but a growing leaf,
At my deathbeds highest peak,
Teaching you as much I can.
Life your life, as you always would.
Be proud of what you can and could.
I was a leaf,
I am a leaf,
An now a jaded, old pale, trashed one.
I came from soil,
As a part of seed,
The seed that yielded a bigger tree.
The tree is happy,
With its flowers and fruits
The fruits yield now,
Many, many seedy fruits.
But oh, this tree this busy one indeed,
Knows not thay it's but the leaves make it!
Today that it has many,
It misses not me,
But oh, I feel pity,
But heart sobs much in misery,
Remembering, reminiscing
That first parent seed
For it was the seed,
That loved & blessed ,
Blessed enough to be a tall
Tall, yet a 'selfish' tree.
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 2:53 PM UTC
Willing to give you so much
Buy you a rose for no reason
To lend you my ear
if there's anything on your mind
To lend you my shoulder
so you can let it all out
Make you laugh when you need to
Kiss your cuts and make you feel better
To tell you 'I love you' everyday
until our heads hit our deathbeds
Pouring my heart out for you on to paper
While I cry out all my tears
and bleed out all my blood
You should probably know
that you mean the world
and more to me
Though none of this
matters 'cause you're in the arms of another
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 7:42 PM UTC
he wasn't much on saying so
but it made its way onto birthday cards
and deathbeds
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 11:20 PM UTC