PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Love is as strong as death . . . the

ancient Poet declared, enscriptured.

Death resented the joy that lived---

thrived---between us.  Now one of us is

dead and both of us are deathed.

We wander like ambient smears or smudges---

disconnected from, but groping toward, each

other.  Through sharp blades of dessicated grass

these mangled, mutated travesties

that once were our feet must pass.

Massive stones rise along this path,

lurking up from haunted crevices,

hideously shapen menaces

leaning toward us luridly.  Landscape and sky

reflect each other---unbroken, dismal gray, the

color of brains strewn about as if

frlung from a bullet-shattered skull. 

I would like to be glad that nothing

that I have yet seen reflects my face,

which has become a visage not a face:

can yours ever be the same where you are?

No sun or moon, if ever such were ever here,

now lighten the sky. I know not how I know

such things:  I fear I have always known them.

Love is as strong as death . . . and toward that

last of lights we flit and flail,

like moths that flee and fear the

relentless encroachment of starless night.

Starward