"gravesides" poems
I know a word,
Six letters long,
That destroys.
I know a word,
Six letters long,
That kills.
I know a word,
Six letters long,
That encompasses an uncertain future
Of needles and lab tests,
A word that can't ever describe the feeling
Of knowing your body is killing itself.
I know a word.
Six
Letters
Long
That rips away vitality, leaving only
Empty ghosts in sterile beds,
Laughter replaced by hushed doctors and quieted sobs and
The incessant, steady beeping of a heart monitor.
I know a word,
Six letters long,
That leaves a husband crying
Over hospital bills at a kitchen table,
His son standing silent in the doorway,
2 AM.
I know a word
Yanking soft great-grandmothers and innocent children
From here to the ceiling of the clouds,
Six weeks, six months, six years
Stealing hair and smiles and health and hope,
Leaving a drawn, hollow skull
Staring
At the abyss.
A word,
That makes you feel powerless,
An ant trying not to drown in six feet of flood and fire.
A word
That has claimed countless lives,
Forced springs of tears to well in miserable eyes,
Produced pictures of black sorrow at
Rainy gravesides.
I know a word, six letters long,
Called CANCER.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 5:13 PM UTC
They asked if I wanted to go North,
I asked if there was any place further
South,
They shook their heads side to side,
I said I needed time, was there absolutely
any place else,
They shook their heads side to side,
I asked if there was still room for me here
with my wife and children so near,
They shook their heads side to side,
"besides" said one, "they are not going
anywhere that you cannot come back,
to the gravesides"
I looked them in the eye
They shook their heads side to side
I went for a break found myself in front
of a newscast, somewhere in the world
there was one two three terrible clashes,
somewhere on the west coast of some
distant promised landing, a bottling giant was
guzzling profits while emptying Mother
Earth, her name is Aquafir,
if that was not enough some part of the
under under cover part of a government
arm admitted that Area 51 exists but it
is more like a farm, something stinks and
there is allot of ********
I went back and looked them in the eye
and asked how long I'd be away and they
said, "until you die"
I can come back to visit.
They nodded up and down
"once a year" they said and each one had
a frown.
I changed my heart to get away from this
insane place we know, has become, I will find my
peace far from this madding crowd,
as long as they don't find me if they come
looking from, the top of the world, down.
If they do
I will shake my head
side to side, instead
of choosing who is right,
so leave me to find my peace
my mind, until I see my loves
once more.
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 1:06 AM UTC
The traveller comes home,
The wanderer returns—
But reality is not a book.
When you go back, be prepared:
For sad eyes and gravesides and greying hair.
For those ***** gone, for those who were never here,
For crayons lost and empty chairs,
For keys that don’t fit and slamming doors.
Those you’ve left behind, and those who stopped waiting…
Those still waiting for you,
and those you’re still waiting for.
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 6:20 PM UTC