I had a vision once
only once, of Death.
Not Death, but Ego dying.
Upon dying, I was reborn.
Just reborn, without attachment.
Death of attachment to attachment.
Awareness that I was awake.
fully awake, finally fully free.
pain free, no longer depressed.
Aware of my depreesion, but not attached.
No longer attached to my attachment.
Was my vision Real?
Earnest
Layer
Reactive
Should I stay or should I Go.
So many complex emotions
layer upon layer, reactive
To the slightest nuance or
Benign word well intended.
She tries in earnest, still
Will love not fade away, away
From the burden day by day.
Gone gone gone, gone
To find herself she said.
I didn't know that she
was lost. I was too content
to see the signposts
passing bye.
A farewell letter handwritten
in her florished script,
Purple perfumed ink,
How could something so distasteful
smell so sweet.
It was not you, but me.
I love you, but I must go.
You are too good for the likes of me,
someday we may meet again,
Who knows what fate will bring.
A mind so muddied that
Thought and reason fail to meet
All I know is that your gone.
I'm not one for sentimental
endings. Not this time.
There he is, don't look,
Don't let him see you stare
His poor parents what they must
Think. Such a good lad he was
Back then. Curly haired little boy,
Full of laughter, full of beans,
Not in a bad way by any means.
He dated my Sarah in high school,
So handsome, so well mannered,
Still is by all accounts, but
Who would have thought back then
what we now know. There but by
The Grace of God, could all us go.
Valentine indeed!
The name suits her,
money-minded whore.
What right has she
To be happier then me.
Bitter chocolate covered
Poisoned hard candied heart,
Smiling hand holding tart.
He'll be sorry soon enough.
Her smile so sweet, her manner
Cold steel, iced and rough
His innocence soon to be impaled;
Her heart's a hammer, everyones a nail.
This poem was first conceived when the last man who played football during the Christmas Truce(1914) passed away in 2005.The first two lines were written by a friend JayCee as an idea for a poem. I filled in the rest using her prompt. I was imagining that all those who participated in the famous football game that took place between the trenches on Christmas day were waiting in the afterlife for the last man to join them so they could resume the game again.
Full time is called at last
The final player is no more.
All the ghosts of no mans land
Will celebrate the final score
As the last man leaves his mortal
Shell to walk on heavens pitch
Where old friends and former foe
Wait to play the game once more.
The field is ruled with poppies red,
The ball as golden as the sun.
Deaths ditch is lined with eidleweiss
And Angels sing, The New Jerusalem
To celebrate that glorius day
When they layed down bayonet and gun
And ran upon a no mans land
To play footy just for fun.
