The Two-Headed Calf and the One-Eyed Raven

You look at the ancient stars, shining brightly in the sky. Green grasses wave at you from afar, and you feel them welcome you to Life, as you take your first steps. A stumble, a fall, but your mother by your side, with her caring eyes, willing you to stand tall. You breathe through two sets of nostrils, you see through two pairs of eyes. You are complete. You have with you all that you ever have, and though you will be gone before your first sunset, this night you will experience all that there is in life. The joy of peace, of calmly sleeping at your mother’s side. The tragedy, which is a privilege for others, to have to wake up and face the day. The wonder of hearing the birds sing as they fly through the trees, searching for insects to feed their young. You are not meant for the skies, but as the birds fly, one song meets your ears. Sung with melancholic sincerity, you see the singing raven perched on one leafless tree, watching you with only one eye.

A child has been born, so full of life,
A head too many, here comes the knife,
A slash, a crack, off goes your head,
A mother, alone again,
When she goes to bed.

She’ll watch the sun rise,
She’ll watch the sun set,
She’ll be alone again,
When she goes to bed.

A moment passes, before you hear your mother sing back to the raven, with a desperate dread.

Don’t take my child, lover of the dead,
Don’t make me say goodbye,
Take me with you instead,
Please don’t let me be alone again,
When I go to bed.

Poem: Ash of the Past

Lay me in the dust of death
A vague disconnect
From the blood on my hands
In the drowning discotheque
Music pounding in my head
To the beat of how things used to be
With our drunken songs
On dimly lit city streets

The sheets on my bed
Still carry your ash
Where I sleep
And have my fitful dreams
From which I keep waking
With tremors in my hands
And an unsteady breath
That escapes my lungs
And leaves me here
Laying myself down in the dust of death

My lovely paradox

The sun shines through my windows,
But the night lives on in my mind.
Thoughts of a melancholic moon, you,
Imaginary jealousy, a wish
To just leave things be.
Oh, it’s simultaneously light and dark,
Life and death,
But either way,
Nothing
In the end.

Poem: silent love

Melancholy and fireworks
Shoot into the sky
Heralds of a new age
That’s neverchanging and relentless
In misery, a lack of company
Present in the dark night sky
In my mind, and in my mind’s eye
I see the end of it all
Misplaced among the vines
Thorns and gravestones
Can you see the God
In the middle of the path
Butchered and broken
It is love, so misshapen
That it becomes as silence,
Destroyed when spoken aloud
As the raindrops drop on my face
A mix of tears, confirmations
The body and blood, proof
That we have killed him
All comes crashing down
Deep into the ground
Where I lie,
And lay myself down
And I won’t make a sound

Terminal Gate

The benches, the seats –
The sense of despair,
Evokes the terminal
Waiting at the final gate.
Surrounded by hosts, hostesses,
Gods and goddesses, and covered
In sin, bandages and every other thing they have gathered –
The memories of the places they have been.

They wait on wooden benches,
Unsure of their departing time.
They may only hope for a delay
In their fatal flight, but the ghosts working the air traffic control
Already have them in their hold –
Unwilling, to let go.

Shovels beat the sun

The shovels beat the sun,
And the enemy falls upon us
To try and bury us six feet under.
For King and country we find ourselves
In the mines of Golgotha,
Digging up false prophets
And prophecies of end times –
Scrolls and revelations from a god
That has left us in the mud.
The colour of our cap only matters
To those that wish to beat us
To the holy grail that’s as sought after
As an act of revenge against the man
That would betray the saviour with a kiss
Of love, death, and deceit.
But here we lie, here we lay,
Six feet under with the dead,
All to keep the dead at bay.

Inspired by a line from Peaky Blinders

Silent remains

I know you didn’t mean to leave me the way you did.
I believe you,
Even though it seems so strange
To believe anything you say,
As your voice still remains silent in your grave.

Every Time

I die on the inside every time I decide to leave someone behind.
Or when I lay to rest the plans we never had,
Or the memories we never made
In a future that we will never see
Together.

Together was all we had,
And I find myself here at the end
Of it all, struggling to stand tall
And raise my head high.
Because every goodbye kills me,
And I die every day, afraid
Of the next one to go away.

I’m so fine with it, sometimes,
Somehow, but then there are times
When I’m drowning in the deep depths
Of despair, where the air
Escapes my lungs
And leaves me behind.

Bones Reign

Writhing masses march
Their way to the pulpit
To preach prophecies
Of the light and grave-
Grace that only they can see.

But, hear ye, hear me,
When the trumpets
Sound! it will not be for them,
But for me, for a holy coronation-
A crown of roses on my head
As I take my rightful place
By my father’s side,
In the grave.

Bones reign.
The son is slain.
Here lies a man,
With no legacy to his name.

Tag: death