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JL Feb 2012
Down on my luck
My body is empty
A shell of only emotion
And thought
Shaking like a scared dog-
The most damning evidence comes when I stand
Do my legs fold under me?
Or does the earth no longer find me relevant
No longer fruitful
No longer worthy to walk on her face
Cool air
Gives my inhale something to talk about
As I fall back to the dew
(Immovable)
"Earth, if you have (ever) loved me; cradle (now)
My broken body in your arms."
"Just a drop of water fallen from a leaf
Could quench my thirst"
To ashes I must return
I am dust and gravel
Sift me between your fingers
Know me
Be my disciple
Speaking my thoughts to all who will listen
And one (night)
When your heart skips
You will know it is time
The ache on the wind
No longer possible to ignore
Go out to the darkest corner of the forest
And lie among the twigs and leaves
I am there with you as you become radiance
I am there whistling your favorite song
Giving you peace
Giving you (spring and her color)
Deer live their lives around us
Acting as sentinels of (morning)
Earthworms cursed with blindness
Burrow beneath us
Thistle
Wildflower
Hungry little fingers growing in color
As the horizon tips us
Into the glow of our star
(Morning)
Quietly now, darling
You (are) a stranger in this life
But you will haunt all you have touched
The smell of your skin
Is upon your letters
And your dresses still) hold your beauty
Your shoes still worn through
You will not be forgotten
So rest now
I wipe your parched lips with a cloth
Dipped in the cold waters of the river
I smooth the wrinkles in your shirt
And fold your fingers above your chest
Placing between your warm palms
A smooth shell
I plucked from the sea
(Long ago)
When you were but a child
And I was (summer)
Jared Eli Jul 2014
It has never been right to **** your patients, and yet
You've got consent to drop bombs they won't live through to regret
Radiate them entirely from the inside to the outside
But the dawning realization is that the victims cannot hide
As they sit with blood all pumping in their veins
Checking their pulse to see how much time remains
Until they're carted out, just another toe tag
And the coroner zips up yet another black bag
Recognition is the lowest form of understanding
Yet you slap a name on something and you're suddenly commanding
As though you're the only person who knows what to do
But the people without white coats know about as much as you
They can recognize the pain and they know that it's a stall
Years of people in your care and you've never cured it all
They voice that they are hopeful that their loved one will pull through
But beneath it all they know that the good outcomes are few
So they sit and hold the hands of the people they still love
Knowing that they soon will leave this place, and to cherish moments of
Full coherence and the times when the whole family’s together
As though this were just another storm the family could weather
It’s the end of an era, they all know within
And their forceful denial doesn’t deny Death the win
As he swoops with his cape and his scythe there in hand
And slices at the soul and drags it back to his land
So the patient flat lines, and you hang your head
You don’t have to tell the family; they that know he’s dead
It doesn’t faze you as much as it did years ago
When you still questioned your faith and wondered where we all go
When the candle is snuffed and our life-line is cut
Leaving the survivors with guilt in their gut
See, you finally stopped caring about such questionings
Because the doubting left you thinking that you just did little things
So you tried to cut it out, and leave all that in the past
Trying to convince yourself that your doings would last
Like your time here on Earth was going to count when it ended
And your soul would escape on angel wings suspended
But some nights when you’re by yourself, in the loneliness you dread
Little voices come and whisper the thoughts deep within your head
Saying that people don’t get what they deserve, not usually
They only get what they get, and any fool could see
That receiving any hand, doesn’t mean it wasn’t stacked
Doesn’t mean the cards were shuffled, doesn’t mean they weren’t tracked
Could be that the same ace you had was given to two
And the other ace-holder played it faster than you
Leaving you without the years you were going to live
Striking from you all the phrases and the love you were to give
Like a river struck a dam, your lifespan was shorter
You would sooner take the train of death, handing obol to the porter
Sometimes it just doesn’t matter how well you played the game
Because Death isn’t specific and he treats us all the same
Age, rank, or affiliation won’t hold his scythe at bay
When he’s marked you as his target that he’s next to take away
And the voices in your head speak this into your ear
Just when you think it’s silent and you’ve nothing to fear
You’ve put your time in at the hospital, and you know you’re doing good
But you’re physically not well, and why isn’t quite understood
You should be happy to be helping those with the issues you’re resolving
But you begin to feel the hamster wheel by itself revolving
No longer are you choosing, though your choices led you here
The voices tell you different, but you don’t let yourself hear
What are you doing? Is it truly what you want?
Was life just meant for misery, and happiness a taunt?
You’re surrounded by the ailing, and you look them in the eye
Your oncologist’s senses approximate when they’ll die
You feel like a colonel leading unknowing young men
To the front lines to get shot at again and again
Promising the mothers as you take the boys away
That their sons will be fine and live another day
When you know in your heart that that isn’t the case
And most would be shipped home flag over their face
Those remaining are surrounded by the chosen of the draft
The unstable cannon fodder, and the ones that love this craft
Yet whether in your care, or out there in the field
The soldiers that you know cannot force Death to yield
While he may get distracted and pick off the others first
Sometimes it’s not the pain, but anticipation that’s the worst
When the strike is slow and silent, like a bullet that would glide
As your eyes were peeled forward, to strike you in the side
Spilling forth the gray that mattered, and your buddy whirls ‘round
Looking for the shooting culprit, but he’s nowhere to be found
Now that Death’s incoming, he goes through the motions
He’s seen it all before, the incantations and potions
The desperation amuses him but the thing he loves most
Is slowly pressing Fear in the body of a host
And when it’s ripe and lovely, dripping when they speak
That’s when he knows he’s got them, that’s when he knows they’re weak
Your soldiers fall beside their foes, all you do is hold the clipboard
Looking frantic at the file of every single lost ward
“It wasn’t me, it was Death!” but that’s not a diagnosis
And claiming that you see him, is a sure sign of psychosis
So you zip up your mouth, and throw out the key
Knowing that your battle’s over, and you cry suddenly
The tears just escape you and fall without warning
As you’re dressing up plain for more bad news this morning
You’re crying for each patient, for every second that they’ve lost
For all the days they couldn’t have because someone said that was the cost
Their hand wasn’t their choice, and they played them through, no folding
But they just couldn’t beat the royal flush dealer was holding
When they up and away, though you try not to remember
The moment’s locked in your head, like a fire’s last ember
All it needs is a stirring, something sharp to ignite it
And this morning it’s too much and you simply can’t fight it
You give in to the tears and they cleanse your red eyes
And you feel cleansed from within as though you’ve washed out your lies
Because you care about the patients, and the voices that once spoke
You’ve thrown all away, and the locks on you broke
It’s simply a matter of dealing with loss
And overcoming the pains that once were your boss
So you straighten your tie and prepare for today
Knowing that if things aren’t good, then crying’s okay
But mobilization, and actions are key
In changing the outcomes positively
A cleansing is needed, but you have to schedule the day
When one brain half leads, and the other goes away
Death’s not a thing that’s stupid or crazy
To cry about, and though finality’s hazy
And you still haven’t sorted through all of your doubt
There’s a fine chance you know what living and dying’s about
Now whether or not you believe there’s life after
It’s a good rule of thumb to cause people laughter
Be kind to your friends, be kind to your foes
Offer up hope to those with or without woes
Be good of heart and if you die, so be it done
That you among others, will be a missed one
It’s not about fairness of life, or longevity
Though it is disappointing to live life with brevity
If you’re active and friendly, you’ll be leaving a mark
Though your body decomposes, your spirit left a spark
Like those embers of memory you stirred up that morning
Pieces of you will revive without warning
In the lives of the people you touched and affected
Your Jolly Roger, in pieces, is erected
And you’ll stowaway like in a book by Robert Louis
But in the heart of a young one, a young man, who is
Training to do what you did, for the masses
Working alongside other young lads and lasses
Your profession and traits still exist, and that’s grand
Just knowing that you were a part, gave a hand
To a new generation, of leaders and lovers
And though they may not sing Bob Dylan covers
They’re connected to you through time and space
And the goodness you’ve done could not be erased
When you go, let it be at your time, and remember
Even if you think not, you’re somebody’s ember
Yes, your life has been catalogued by people that love you
Because feelings don’t change when people walk up above you
So when you’ve life to its fullest and slip into your last covers
Do not doubt you’ll live on in your friends and lovers
Now these life-living tips are not costly and no scam
But now we return to our usual program
ns ezra Mar 2013
i dreamt of holding your hand, i dreamt of hating you; i am hansel & gretel sharing halves of a sexless edgeless soft young body together sitting in your home and waiting with folded hands patiently, quietly, to be devoured. look i am telling you — it's fine. sink in your teeth, i like the feel of them. today in the trees i saw mary magdalene's shawl-framed face written in shadows between the branches, today i saw the ***** of babylon's hands at my window and i wept. today you kissed my barren chest with the mouth of judas, today i am nobody's child. tomorrow i am yours.

i dreamt i poured you wine from my mouth, i made you bread from my flesh. all i ever did was miss you even when you were right here. you cradled my hand like a mother and later the bones of my fingers like a lover; the walls were stainless peach and the sun was setting and filtered through the window the light from behind made your hair glow, your face was so dark i couldn't find the colour in your eyes. i cried now for what you made me feel until you kissed me quiet, your breath so warm and my voice lost within it, lost like a sailor all at sea, and i felt so safe with you then even knowing how this story ended — you drew away and in my mouth from yours had slipped charon's obol, slipped all down my throat with no resistance. through the suffocation i laughed a little and through the laughter i said to you "yes, that's right," only glad that you had remembered.

look i am telling you — i died perfectly happy because i had not died at all. i watched you from the eyes of the wood-pigeons at your window and i know you burned my body and i know you swallowed the ashes and still! still then all you ever did was miss me, even when i was right there, right inside of you. silly boy.

i dreamt of hating you and by the end i only loved you again.
JL Feb 2016
Prince before gate
Without haste
Death is my laurel
Like stone I stand
Sword still in hand defiant
Ten billion eyes watch
Silent as I enter hell
Then laughter swells
When I spit out
Charon's Obol
I looked him in the Eye
Shuddered, this was my I
As exploded the pyre
And the quivering lyre

I watched my soul fight in a fury
I had only seen with Poe
I shivered from skin to toe
That Eye, squinting, said ''Mary''

As the music - magnificent!
Fired the flickering flame - luminescent
Finally fondled my florid flank
My mind, my mild mind, went blank

Under my fading moonstone
His hand dropped one obol
I heard the knell of the night owl
The shrieking sound of my marrow bone

Beauty of the banished bride
Can you hear the fest from afar?
This is how his devouring pride
Slaughtered you on his altar

Your prince kissing other lips
Drinking from cups seducing sips
As his Eye, oh this petulant prying
Eye, was the last you were adoring!

January 29,2014
Inspired by Edgar Allan Poe's short story,  The Tell-Tale Heart
Erwinism Oct 19
From the swing;
the playground,
when the mind is clear
as honeyed water,
there,
ever on the road goes,
slithering into the shadows
of the sleeping horizon,
and
when my feet
were big enough to fill
the muddied shoes,
I sauntered,
then walked,
then trudged,
until my toes were nailed
to the asphalt,
until I came upon
where the road has crumbled,
its debris scattered.

And stood this body,
two sizes too big for this tiny soul,
swathed in layers of expectations,
dragging sagging lumps of age around
past this old carnival.

Forsaken years in the rear view mirror
once painted with life,
proud stallions
here, stand still and gray,
golden poles tarnished,
Their hand crafted eyes
wide-open,
staring through the smudged glass mirror at the lives they missed.  
while the music box wheezes—
a slowing tune,
a dying sound,
as shadows lengthen
on this fairground.

Deep in my pocket,
my fingers exhume
yesterday’s cold corpses
no longer jingling,
just grating tired,
clutched a handful of
these tokens—forgotten currencies,
now just pieces of obol for the eyes,
obsolete,
for games whose booths have long since shattered.

The Ferris wheel creaks,
half-dismantled,
Its empty seats
Swinging
in the twilight’s breeze,
crying tears
of rusted nuts and bolts,
groans high above my head,  
emitting light
a weaker pulse
against the night.  
As if they were embers
holding on to their glow,
if for a moment until the breeze snatches their soul out of their ashy bed.

I stand beneath it,
feel the wind brush past  
And wonder if I’ll ever climb again,  
or if this ride has ended with the spark  
of something breaking,
and like with most
it is something I can’t fix.
Erwinism Sep 22
Yesterday hid behind the dense
switchgrass
on the look out for us
to light candles of thought,
so it may remind us

of scent, quiet but lingering,
of a fragrance, infused beneath memories’ skin
and ferry us back in time.
seeking forgiveness,
seeking that we might forget,
on the eyes of restlessness an obol shall rest
and leave what was as dead,
as if a rash, cooled to no longer rage,
to no longer itch.

Yet, we can’t forget.
Unbidden, yesterday returns as spring
but with a hint of winter
and the frailty of things.

Do must we,
But break clocks
And wish gears lost,
In the end we are found
On the road where we
left our ghosts.
Natalia Mar 2021
**** with mirror i look like Eve
is this a godsend from eternality
no one redeem us one could scream
but I am suffocating with a obol of mercy under my dead tongue
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
the squandered  Charon's obol -
   akin to the revived
Graeae's eye.... should either receive
a comic interpretion
of Hades' mouth...
   shiukd  Hercules replace Atlas...
      oh such, the burdensome world,
   of which became,
and of which,
came apparent...
           life as that which.
lived,
a life, least awaiting
death...
     wavering from
a coo...
a shoo...
a disparaging of
chickens...
of men?
      by comparison....
being forgiven
leisure...
to be armed with leisure ill
begot...
is to not be
forgiven with either
ill begetting,
or the instance of leisure:
whether ensured
by rightful leisure...
or within the confines
of a horror guise...
       fair or not fair...
suicide is no judgement
to pass a right from wrong...
god has his witness....
you? you?!
you're just a standing-by,
quasi-artifact...
and that's the end
of your moral conundrum!
suicide is perfectly reasonable...
especially given your
******* state of objections...
personally?
i abhor people who deposit
some moral high-ground
over suicides...
                 like they
somehow have a higher status life
to continue living...
  that overshadows
the suicide's success...
     no... they're worms...
and they need to know that they're
worms...
  we can't allow them the bogus treatment
of allowing them surrogate
bias...
             no... no!
     i'm not allowing the argument
for: you were a suicide...
you have ***** my friend...
look...
   no adrenaline shot...
          no unsuspecting stab wound...
now you tell that ******
who thinks suicide is an escape...
there's no argument...
like with a Christian evangelical
brigade over an abortion...
*******!

      fair enough...
come the 40th birthday and the down
syndrome birth...
nice...
   double nice...
        
                    why the **** are you
looking at me for, as if i attempted
to **** your mother, with a *******
harmonica?!  

don't even bother
contemplating moving to a small
town... and oozing
large town, casual, urban lies...
           don't bother...
60+ K will find out...
sooner or later.

— The End —