look away, for I am hideous
my heart has drained and flutters not,
filled with dust and drawing towards
that perpetual pulling,
to end six feet underneath the hustle of this outer realm

we find ourselves at this terminal
the same address,
the Reaper slips inside
to glean his just reward, bit by bit
laboriously,
regardless of our turns in life
well spent or lost in some crazy haze
to pry loose heaven’s door
struggling to win the favor of that golden key …

winds of change lament
howling proud above reproach
therein speaks a mystery
of why on earth we mortals attempt
to justify, to crucify, correct the course
it ends up all the same,
sleeping in that darkened box
quiet, where no one hears
those footsteps as they lay
flowers fresh and bouquets large
to melt away the guilt and shame
the living feel,
a day or two at most
a week at best …

is the answer found in going on
or waiting for the ground
throw up your hands in quiet despair
or rush through heaven’s gate
guns blazing fast …

12/04/2007

Posted on 12/04/2007
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