Live

Dead! Rotting, bloating, dead!
Putrification plague
This flesh no more. Parade
Those maggots elsewhere. Shed
Corruption from the soul. 
Deny Charon his toll. 

Stay the hand that nurses
The wound and break the back
Of First Clown who's soil, black,
Is strewn 'bout with curses
To the earth, foul smelling
Air, bones never telling

And the dark dismal deed. 
Dry the tears of those who,
Though tried, feign to love you. 
Stable the sombre steed
That drives the procession
With purpose and passion. 

Ignite the wretchéd wreaths
And destroy the daisies. 
Each petal a maybe
Whispered against the breeze
Of gale-force, livid nays
And gusting, placid yeas.

Dinner For Two

To venture out alone, without knowing

If I'll return takes great courage, courage

That has grown and grows still, ever growing

From cowardice. The fear of confronting

Myself indoors drives me outside to age

In mind and soul, weath'ring rain and heckles. 

Trying to free monotonous shackles

From the ankles of my still youthful life. 

Choosing to soldier on through mental strife,

Choosing not to take the easy way out

Surely must be a sign of bravery?

Or perhaps sustaining a losing bout

Is a sure sign of huge stupidity?

If I had a towel I'd throw it in,

But I lent it to the lady who ate

My heart, she needed it to wipe her face,

Revealing an innocent, pretty grin,

Then discarded it with excessive grace. 

I know I'll get it back, I'll wait, I'll wait.