Disguise Poem by Colin Hemmings

Cry thee not when I am gone, Thank the Lord, your life goes on,
Memories inside your head, are all you’ll have when I am dead,
Some so good will make you sad, shiver inside at those so bad,
My eyes are sealed; my wounds have healed,
Yet you still bleed, and have to heed,
The nights you spend all alone, as cold as stone,
I have found no worry, but you will have to hurry,
Chores will still be done, hurry now no time for fun,
No tasks I did yesterday, all left for you to do today,
Aye, curse me for a loser, sometimes to be a boozer,
All the while you lashed your tongue, ‘tis now your time to eat the dung,
Life with you was my curse, laughing now at you the worse,
Hot as hell I will be, better than it was with thee,
Death could now be my best, maybe now I’ll find some rest,
Nevermore shall my mind tilt; I bare me now no more guilt,
Thoughts that you put in my mind, with you I left them far behind,
Savour now your life of desire, and wallow in your material mire,
All your thoughts were just for you, everything you chose to do,
Hear your words perhaps you can, running down your trodden man,
Throw out now your tongued fork, who’s going to listen to you talk,
Four walls can not respond, as you grow old and ever more despond,
But my respite may be short, as one day I will hear you retort,
As you too will surely fell, only to bring freezing cold to hell,
The devil then will no doubt leave, and sure as hell I believe,
Another man will be damned for life, because he married himself a wife.