Mark R Slaughter Poems

Death is death is death:
Inevitability intertwines and
Writhes in dance with Death –
He always had an open door
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Worry is a growth upon the mind:
A parasite – a tick or mite; a nick,
A churning gut – metaphors combined,
Rotting down a delicate constitution.
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I lost my arm, a leg; the head
Of once my brother fell to me.
I caught it with a scream caressed with
Bowels, anointed with our blood –
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Cheese? Again?
Please, don’t tease!
Even the bread shies,
The butter sighs,
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Despair, if you must –
But how's it going to pull you through?
Despair, when you trust
Naught since then there's naught to do.
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Alone - I think I need a place alone.
After all, alone is being free - alone
From all the other lonely souls.
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Under night close
Death rose to greet me.
I turned; looked back,
Though nothing beckoned -
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A solitary rose in red attire
Condescended:
A fleeting glance -
She apprehended
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Surviving all to seize the hour;
A firm reward: a solitary flower.
With pinch of time to propagate -
Of seed and chance, it must await.
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Am I you
And are you me –
So each other we can see?
...