The Dead Halloween 2o14

Friday

Yes, I is my favorite holiday . . . HALLOWEEN! And yes, I've been up all night. Too excited to sleep. So, how about my Halloween poetry for this season?

The Dead

 

Dead. We are the dead,

mere shadows lingering between
 the narrow slit of eyelids closed.
Words mumbling mournful things,
a prayer, a whimpering so lonely
the darkness weeps for us.

 

Dead, we are the dead.

Vacant minds burnt in sacrifice

slithering toward the open grave,

sores bloom to yellow plumes,

raving lunatics knocking at the door,
neatly tied up bound in every lie,
in every promise made and broken.

 

We are surely dead.

Apostles to the bone, the breath
adrift on streams of unconsciousness;
we drown in chaotic harmony
with all those other souls grasping
at malignant straws . . . they do not float.

 

We are the dead . . . breathing in

a world that spews us out
upon the dank Persian carpet
where mother lies bleeding,
receding from her life
in short agonizing gasps.

 

Dead, we are dead

from the day we were born.
rrw 1o-3o-14