being alive
Breathing,
loving,
dying.
Pain,
hurt,
agony.
Death.
Despair.
Greasy stains on table clothing.
Bloody splashes stipple whitish sheet.
Darkness scratches me with talons fierce
and I relish red pulsing and flowing and beating.
Dance.
Death.
Eyes open
then widely shut.
new
This sliver of a moon
shines brightly from its cradle.
Tomorrow, it will be new
and it will be gone,
and the sky will be dark.
Maybe one of these days
it will forget to come back.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
a poetry journal
About Me
- Arielle Marie
- I sing, and write stream of consciousness poetry, and do absolutely anything with theatre. Oh! and I waltz.
Blog Archive
Collection
Copyright
Each of these poems is copyrighted 2008 by the author. No quotations, however brief, may be made without my as the author's prior, express, written consent.
No comments:
Post a Comment