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W.H.T. is terminal
by Maria Terezia FerenczOld habits die hard?
HA!
more like
long slow agonizing eat the flesh off your bones
DEATH
the kind that stinks up the room
with the stench of decay
the room where the small box (not a coffin YET)
you sleep in
is still a bed
and you are
DREAMING
happily
of another time
when you were healthy
YOUNG
pretty and the grass was always
GREENER
when the fairest flower
in the garden was you
and the
DEW
was still on the rose
THAT OLD HABIT
ya know the one
It's name
"Westill Have Timeleft"
it dies hard?
no not hard at all
but long and slow
sneaky CALCULATING cruel
DEATH
the kind that comes
in short bursts
broken by joy--just often enough
to keep that bitch
HOPE
alive
12/01/2006 Author's Note: yeah I am in a black mood wonder why??
Posted on 12/01/2006
Copyright © 2026 Maria Terezia Ferencz
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 12/02/06 at 02:51 AM Boy, howdee, can I feel your vibes come through strong in this one! Line #4 just brings so many scenes to mind of a slow death - perfect image of the WHT syndrome - well done. I'm still betting on Hope. |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 12/02/06 at 05:32 AM Nothing wrong with that. Great work. |
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