Mark R Slaughter Poems

She cried for all the broken hearts,
Painted everlasting winters -
Floral patterns etched in ice;
A frozen tear to
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Death, inevitable Death.
So now You come to show Your world,
Hence the blackened cloak – unfurled.
And peering down upon my form
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An underlying sense of counting down -
A rhythm deep: enteric thuds -
Each another year to fret and frown
About, wading in the claggy muds
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Red bled the sun upon a dying day.
I was red across the dial – in denial –
Purple bags bemoaning alcoholics’ eyes –
Blind, they still portray a depth of ruin
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‘Twas deep; so deep of night,
When I saw what I had seen -
So truly deep of night,
When I went where I had been,
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Speak to me –
Speak thro’ drifting clouds

O! sing to me –
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We strolled along, the wife and I,
To turn upon a wood nearby,
And in the centre glade of green,
Beheld we both a dazzling scene.
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The bitter coffee kicked;
I shook and then I licked
My lips and gave a sigh.
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Moon, you have a shade of blue tonight –
Is it something that you saw or heard?
Only yesterday, your tone was proud and bright,
Yellow silver, full, and so assured.
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Oh blade you'll warm tonight!
Awash in crimson-purple flows,
Your sheen will dull with aching flesh:
Palpating anatomic mounds
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