A body on a funeral pyre,
His flesh consumed by living fire.
I look to see his happy face
But there's a death mask in its place.
Dare I touch his lifeless flesh,
Even though his death is fresh?
In my mind he's here with me,
Crying tears that I can't see.
Death is quick while life is slow,
And it's love that makes it so.
Love slows life to give us hope,
But death is like a tightening rope.
Gentle lover, gracious king!
Your smiling face, the songs you sing!
Come home now, my love, my life!
Save me from this sharpened knife.
Fire consumes your pale, cold skin,
And to live is a fight I don't want to win.
I lay down beside you and close my eyes,
And gently, slowly, I burn alive.
**Something to remember about these... These were written while I was in depression, but I in no way condone suicide. I don't want to glorify it. I was expressing myself, as well as crying out for help at a time when I was very close to ending it all. If you EVER hear someone talking about suicide, please take it seriously. Sometimes a cry for a help is exactly what it sounds like... a cry for help. **
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Peeking Through the Window
PoetryA book filled with poetry I've written and am writing. I'm considering trying to get published, but I don't think I'm really good enough. Please feel free, by the way, to leave comments. I enjoy knowing what people think, as long as they are not r...
