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DEATH, PERHAPS
DEATH, PERHAPS
Words which wound are proven to be sharper than any knife,
Chopping legs from underneath, betokening internal ending of a Life,
Surly statements be not returned, as in moral highground sense,
Death, Perhaps, is the outcome, dark hermitage in forest, oh so dense.
What one may visit upon another, is but one’s sole shame, indeed,
Causing worms to turn, devouring Spirit, such intention to feed,
That Life is rife with lies, is known by each bitter leaden blow,
Death, perhaps, before naturally played out, we are walking corpses, we know.
Stunned with new lines to besmirch, the planes altered of Hope and Love,
Away they go, like frost rhime under sun, is it possible to sink so low from above,
Those seas of sullied souls, like raw notches on a ghost ship’s bows,
Death, perhaps, as in slow car crash, what of whys and wherefores, let alone hows.
Hearts stop whilst anxiously beating, frozen like clocks at end of wind,
Sudden spurts of poison spewing forth, brazenly to remind,
No one deserves to be stripped of Selfhood, in casual suppertime ease,
Death, Perhaps, whilst absently walking, to force one to their knees.
Death, Perhaps, grave forever Home.
