Poet Laureate

There was a time, when I fancied myself the next William Blake or Lord Byron, during that same period I ingested large amounts of ephedrine and caffeine, I was also a regular viewer of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.

That pretty much explains the following:

Sam

I met a man
His name was Sam
He liked to chop up children
I asked him why
He answered how
And I left him to his mayhem




The light in her eyes

How to begin
Perhaps I'll start from the end
She died in my bed
The disease didn't do it
Not like the doctor said it would
Jeannine wasted away
At first it was slowly, one day at a time
Her bedtime was sooner, her wake time was later
The weight came next, though she was never much to begin with
Soaking weight at 110 pounds soon gave way to bone dry at 85
I didn't mind this or that, nor was I bothered by countless lost little things

The problem came ever so present, slow became fast
Laboring to breathe, smiling taxed her resolve
Still, it wasn't too much to ask
My love remained steadfast
One day it happened, when she began to die
Her auburn eyes no longer shone, the lights had grown quite dim
I knew then it was all but over, though in truth my torture was just about to begin

She no longer smiled; her mouth was formed in an ever-present frown
Then food no longer stayed put, everything down came back up
Her words were few, the tone always terse
No longer did she love me, her days were filled with hating life
This went on for an eternity, in truth it lasted nearly eight months
I looked down at the empty shell, to think we had ever made love
It had to end...but how?
The doctor said three months, which was nearly two years ago to the day
Who knew how much longer I would bear this miserable burden

I waited till she fell into fretful slumber
I watched for hours, reminiscing about our first kiss, remembering the times we made love
The time was now, memories would have to suffice
I took her pillow, the very same one I used to hog
I placed it above her head
Then I applied all grief's pressure on her face

She ceased struggling after a minute
Her face looked sereneI had to know the truth
Fingers delicately uplifted her lids
My sweet, sweet Jeannine your eyes now shine dead



Overheard at Bus Stop # 9

What happened? You shot him in the head? Stop whimpering and tell me why. He didn't have proper change...well, of course it is justifiable homicide.



Terminally Alive

The behemoth that is my life
Hath hastened my descent to hell
Each moment brings a new found pain
I hear salvations voice as if it were a silent bell

The hourglass is nearly spent
Hours become seconds, minutes become days
What does a man say when everything is done
When all his life has passed by as if in a painful haze

Judgment was passed in the mother's warm cradle
Justification came next in the selfishness of yesteryear
It is time to accept the inevitable damnation
I shall cast out this festering fear

If I am to die, it is because I do so live
Everyday was a new misery yet flowers still bloomed
And winter did lead to springs morning dew
Perhaps I am harsh and wallowing only in the gloom

But what would you do
If every tomorrow tantalizingly teased a new found doom