Her poetry is the
silence before death
words which could open cemetery gates
Knife is the breath
which slits my throat
oh, reach for the blade
and cut me so tender
Since grief become the colour of my blood
did you know the cliche of rainbows
weep for me, in Holywood black and white
If I wrote a hymn for us
you’d just call it a prayer
and slice each stanza into pulpits,
my church only seems to house mourners
For whom, whatever,
just let me trigger the 68-gun salute
from last remnants of my heart,
just leave your wedding ring inside my
pillow and your initials on my tomb
I undress you so naked
there is raw skin on my knuckles,
go tell Jesus I have sinned again
forgive me? Never
hello deares Rob you feel so deeply death is only a reacquaintance with the soul you’re poem is lovely and powerful it tempts me from the death I fear ❤️
This is beautiful.
Dark but beautiful. It’s like a love letter to death.
And I agree with your authors note.
Tomorrow isn’t a guarantee.
Thanks for posting!
Dear R,
Raw, painfully exposed and truthful are some of the thoughts I experienced reading this piece. Life is a strange business because its reward is death. I guess depending upon your beliefs, both are to celebrated in equal measure. In this write there is a frantic energy to cling to the living which I appreciated. Exquisitely edgy write. H 🌷