Compilation Poem for April 30, 2015

The morning you never woke up and everything went on as usual

You are now my shrine, the spirit that fills me with life

I believe in remnants, hushed fragments

How long did it last?

41? You still have your mother’s milk on your breath

With millions of images spun by the audience’s thoughts

This is not to say I do not adore them

With my beating, bleeding heart

A black seed spit out by Eve

Even Jesus was born in the dark embers, pale and deepened

I call myself by various names, some of which I can’t pronounce

Through tears and storm, throwing shade from before you were born

Taste, catch, stretch, call out by name

Nothing except machine

Transposing chaos from chaos

To seek such souls in the pitch of the sea

Unlike Peter I did not float

The essentials of life were second guessed

I think he understands why I run and run

Hoping you will be the next person to walk down the hall

This is not a story problem

It feels like you’re lying, waiting for Truth

Being honest is not my style, my look

Accept my heart and weak mind

I’m still angry in my bones

Angry in my bones

Angry in my bones

I’m not sorry for unspoken squabbles

I know I’m dying, that’s my torture, I just didn’t know how.

Time is ruthless

This morning you never woke up and everything went on as usual.

Compiled by Marianne Hales Harding

April 30, 2015