AC (12-16-1981 DOD: everyday / )

Intoxicated By Tragedy

Death, is a mother who slits her wrists
and leaves the world without a final kiss.

A father who’s lived long enough to know
he’s lived too much-
One who’s loved the whore
In-spite of her broken vow.

And Death, is a child
late in life on a clear afternoon,
when all the world spins as it should-
one who comes, bewildered but sober,
with eyes blood shot and motley,
a soul who screams a mad rage at the moon
then retires to the shadows of their empty room.
Death, is a poet
high on life, late in the afternoon.

User Rating: 5,0 / 5 ( 3 votes ) 3

Comments (3)

death was never so easy to digest and you serve it with a cherry on top. great write
Once again you take the heartache of death and pain and transorm it into art, thanks always for sharing.
you write such pretty words, such excellent poems. really, you are very good, very observant. all I can say is goddamn; and then read it again.