Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
neth jones Aug 2018
With a raffling breath
I sate death neatly
I am now in trust
Dead
And being played into new life
There's a swelling of new strifes
and wavings from within
Heats of organisms
Worlds accelerating
Pulsion
Gases waste and gases invitations
take place where I have been
A celebration
A bedding
If only The Humans would leave
the 'Dead Body' be
Just when I am finally achieved
They make a bother
I'll make out a doner card
No, a placard
"No Preservation Upon Death !
Corpse Rights Remain !"
A bitcoin that took
his lure to speck
then caught his poison
and stroked the lawn
with that argy bargy
he finely did roast his town
with jest
his infinite sequence  
there in a raffling wager
that pleased his mother's wish
with his audacity sooner
than they'd think again
in Argonne today.
A Fillabuster
Brennan Crawford Sep 2014
I have often thought of myself as an angel of death.
Destruction meekly keeps step with my pacing vigil,
and blooms wherever I might rest.
In truth I blindly seek it out
Guided by a waning star,
groping in the blackness.
to find at the precipice of stumbling disaster,
An observatory,
Where a great expanse of purpose can be viewed.
A veil is lifted,
And we are swaddled and lulled into reform.

As dust mingles with contrasting shadow,
So do we mingle in an ethereal realm.
Awaiting an equinox,
Or celestial alignment,
Of the body and the soul.
Seeking a corner of the universe,
Where we might meditate on our grief.

You looked saintly,
With your head tilting downwards,
Like Madonna in Pietà.
At peace,
To greet your heavenly messengers,
Of jovial cherubs with golden horns
Swirling in their circling dance.
Trumpets lift the fluttering chorus.
As they lead you by the hand.

Your youngest son,
In a brief visit,
Sat beside you in your aphasic reverie,
As he left he said,
'Bye bye mom',
For the very last time.
Even pushing fifty,
He is still your baby boy.

The afternoon of your departure,
with your hollow vessel in it's room.
We discussed mortuaries and memorials,
And when to disrupt the family,
(In the middle of their labor day barbecues),
With the news.

While the neighbors are raffling their joys,
In their respective complexes,
This house,
At the end of the lane,
Floats disjointed from the material world,
  and the journey through the infinite vacuum,
Without tethers,
To time and space.
Is debasing to say the least.
Dissolving expectations and resolving the ego,
As we dress your body in your favorite colors.
There’s become something evident
That’s to my own detriment
I feel like it’s just a matter of time
Before I meet my maker
It’s no maker or breaker
The punishment just fits the crime
In a world with corruption
Lies and disruption
We failed in a lasting design
Evil roams free
Despite faith or belief
Which makes it not such a difficult bind
On one hand I leave earth
Of which I’ve hated since birth
Because my situation
Felt beyond my control
But what could I do?
I was young, with no clue
And I never had a sense of self-worth
Now that I’m older
I’ve got pain in my shoulder
And I haven’t accomplished a thing
I’ve fought and I’ve clawed
Excalibur sword
But I’m sick
And I’m too tired to swing
I know a likes just a tap
Not to sound like a sap
Or make you feel like you’re being kept on a string
But believe it or not
Just to sweeten the ***
I’m raffling off my old set of wings

— The End —