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The Good Thief
A crimson trail of destruction;
The overwhelming sense of peace.
Bland days leave an essence of misery,
White noise echoes relief.
Sire to a bright eyed infant
Now questioning his fathers end.
A mothers retort, prolonging the inevitable
For the future needs time to mend.
Silence is the symphony of death;
A cold blade to fumigate the fear.
Mute instruments orchestrated by bones
That only death himself can hear.
A permanent solution to a temporary problem
-- Selfishness in it's purest form.
One life gone and many more in ruins;
A cold blade; the eye of the storm.
Seldom pondered but always there,
Acknowledgement makes it real.
Countless losses of needed faces;
Mourned, though unable to feel.
A purpose banished through one ill thought;
A waste strewn under the tree.
Families broken and never the same,
To reconcile means to flee.
If a thought of ending pain, pierces the heart and then the brain; just pick apart the good from bad and thank the life that you've always had. As you've accomplished so much more than all the worth going out the door. So search for help from eyes around, listen to words and heed the sound; because i've seen what it can do to happy souls and it's not true -- it doesn't ever end the pain -- it changes hearts and starts again. Take a moment to find a friend and know for certain, you shouldn't end. We only wish you would have spoke, instead our family slowly broke.
Missed a few...
desperation, anti-climax, pitfalls, joylessness, sorrow, animosity, greed, selfishness...I could go on but I'd add depressed and hit tripplesss...I like the flip side of all those coins, where the choices are happy - Lady A
It was the way I was feeling
It was the way I was feeling at the time, I'd recently lost an uncle to suicide; so I think it's pretty understandable. Read my much simpler poem 'Disappearing Into Myself' if you like mellower, not-so-deep writing. I wrote it one relaxing night while I was taking in the sights.
Understood
The death images were trumped by the rhymes - the dissonance that was set up works for the emotions that follow what should be loss and is not yet but tries to be...such is a funeral, the waste under a tree line was vibrant and heart piercing...I had a cousin at my grandmother's funeral who laughed a lot, partied, and I learned hard that death is a release from much...perhaps she had a point. The poem is so dark...just as it should be--- I will read all of your poems as you write them. ~~~~Lady A~~~~
I see exactly what you mean,
I see exactly what you mean, after so much experience with it, I deal with death differently nowadays. Thank you for your words