Death’s Beauty

Dreaded outcomes
despised harvest
ending up like that
the lonely one

becoming my nightmare
without a fight
numb as a dead body
cold reality buried

expression, my only gift
earned in blood
descriptions egressing
from sores of pain
cold fingers of misery
coaxing every drop

Beautiful deaths shimmer
as distant liquid flames
breezes scented
flavours sweetened

endless finalities
final breaths forever
the last goodbye
a reflection of always

Deaths hand as limp carcasses
draping sickly
like wet rags of sorrow
my dead sun defecating it’s rays
on my garden of shivering dread
death too soon in my prime
leaving the needy behind

I am my own composition
my every component
I design every structure

I own every reflection
I burn every shadow
I voice every echo
design every thought
every action
craft every dream
mold every desire

I live beneath the trench of my soul
I am the plague which destroys my infection
my dreams melt from blackened clouds
then fall as scarlet rain

Warning! screams explode
open not your eyes
don’t look behind you!
I fall to my knees crying
forever alone, a stain on searing love

dust of my memories inhaled
choking those who listen
a thousand eyes upon me
as I melt into the forgotten

 

Tomb of Sleep

Almost, I can taste it’s scent
barely, my reflection still hidden
from the other side
breath steam
on the tips of my fingers

Reverse negative
my antagonist of opposition
my brother of contrast
being as both halves
human inversion
my contradiction

Electric ice flames of totality
never burn
but as transparent fires
with smokeless embers
standing still with time
side by side
ignited in winter’s furnace

Dying death’s death
my violent convulsion
my finality
death’s last shiver

Thoughtless minds of cold dead
dry thickly as arid slabs
packed into the grave of charred skulls
behind the masks of paralyzed faces
chloroformed into a coma of living
living as programmed
to stay out of the way
to die in what were told
life is. . .

A note to readers:
I wrote this when I was in a tomb of depression, burning in misery unable to get air into my imploded lungs. For four days of my darkest moments, I was unable to walk. I dreamed that someone was stabbing members of my family to death in another room. I was able to rise from the floor and ran to protect my family from harm and to unleash a wicked fury upon anyone who stood before me. Anyone there would suffer my personal judgment. I realized that the people I was trying to protect were already dead. All had died years ago, and for a moment in time, I believed they were still alive.

I fell to my knees…crying like a baby…knowing no matter how hard I tried, I could not bring them back. What a horrible delusion to have…a vile nightmare which made me so sick, I dry heaved for several hours.

In that dream, I had been enjoying happy, meaningful conversations and activities with my deceased father. It was so beautiful, so utterly wonderful, I didn’t want it to end. My father and I never actually had any of that. Perhaps it was wishful thinking. Perhaps it was my father reaching from death to tell me he loved me. Maybe it was pure insanity.

Whatever it was and however horrifying it was to realize he was dead for a second time, those moments were the most precious times I ever had with him…even though it was just a dream…I will cherish it forever because I needed it, I wanted it to be real.

I cannot protect him…he is gone. I wanted to, so badly, anyone trying to hurt him…well…by the time they realized what happened, they’d already be dead. At least I know, that no one will hurt another person before my eyes…not without dealing with me.

It has been said that violence is the supreme authority from which all authority is derived. I must disagree. Real authority is not backed by violence, it is backed by peace. The world we live in with it’s weak men using violence as an authority has got to stop.

Whether it is Osama or the USA killing people, it is the mark of cowardice and weakness. If I saw someone attacking my mother, or for that matter, a woman or child on the street – would I kill that person? Yes…I would. I would also spend the rest of my life in prison…or would I refrain from such an act?

All of this has me thinking…I would not kill them, if I could stop them without needing to. If they lie on the ground, disarmed…there would be no need to let a raging fulguration of anger stomp skull into mush. I could simply call the police after I subdued them.

I let go of much inner anger that day. For I am not a man of violence or evil. I am a man of peace and love. It just hurts to lose people. Losing my father and only having a few precious months of love between us as he was bed ridden, dying of cancer, was better than not having those moments at all.

In my dream, he was healthy. For some reason, I thought he was just sick. Everyone told me he was fine. I ran in the living room and hugged him. We grew a garden together and talked like real friends. When I realized, upon awakening, that he was dead…it hurt more than the first time I found out. What a nightmare.

If it weren’t for the love of the many people I have met blogging, I might not be here. Thank you everyone…my road to recovery is not going to be easy. The anti-depressant I am taking has made me feel really strange. I slept for about 36 hours and had no dreams I could remember. I feel pretty good other than that. Let’s hope for a little happiness around here :smile:
Thank you from the bottom of my heart :smile:

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