A beautiful day
And the sun is out;
There’s a strict line of frost down the middle of the house
Where the shadows are shifting
And the clock hands strike twice
And I’m tired of tip-toeing
Across this
ice.
A whole side to yourself
And a hole for your other;
The half-way hell-house for the dead to recover.
(Shame when you’re here;
Shame when you’re not;
We’re building the bier
where your mistress will rot)
The black mounds are spreading
Congealing inside;
Misery likes company and won’t know when to die
Her red nails have a grip
Over this family too.
Drawing blood from a father who used
To be
You
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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wow
I love this poem a lot. It's a very unique way of looking at a common topic that a lot of people don't like to discuss. I am sorry for your loss but I do love the poem. -
One word for this:
♥
[ok, maybe that's not a word. nvm. i love it =)]
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