Poe, Poe Me

As I sit in sunlight stippling
My hair in the warm breeze a-rippling
The warmth working its way into my cracked and aging bones

I whisper into my own ears
And bring to focus doubts and fears
Using that which some may call sweet, cajoling tones

When O when, I ask myself,
Did feelings forgotten on top shelf
Begin to fester, rot and thicken, turning rancid black?

The answer becomes clear to me
Frightening in its simplicity
'Twas the night on which my father passed from one last heart attack

Denied of signposts to compare
To my own life, the very air
Became as stone, and stopped its trek into my hungry lungs

And then I come to dry-eyed decision
To sally on without his vision
And continue upward, on my own, along life's twisted rungs

Survival is Overrated

our hearts play gladiatorial games
and the arterial spray on the sand
makes a picture of two hands holding
a sword for a kiss, a spear for a caress
a shield for a guarded look
Caesar gives the big thumbs-up
but we die anyway, in our own little ways
here and there, we die a bit and a bit more
but oh
OH
what
a
way
to
go!