Thursday, July 11, 2013

The Lucky Dead

Things are quiet for me when it's raining

Cat's and dogs, when there are no people about.

I don't mind the cold as much as I might.

He has something to say, but is deigning

To reply; and when the night has won us

Over, a kind of thick and deathly calm

Pervades the senses. I forget I am

Flesh, I forget to breath. I encompass

Every ache your aging bones ever felt

I feel the slow death like a blanket

Over your head, trembling for fear, a banquet

Of stars beckoning you to oblivion.

Sickness is a vacuum above your head;

Beneath, lie all the lucky future dead.


~Tam~

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