Just a walk in the dark, and a short swim,
To a place of everlasting drowning.
Just an insipid bath filled to the brim,
Is the final haven of the hurting,
You can sing your great love a stirring hymn,
And lay back and listen to death breathing.
Shut the old wooden door and close your eyes,
In the house of the lost there is no light,
In this sleeping place, this palace of lies,
There is no fear, no failing, no need for sight,
Saved by the fairies of the darkened skies,
Slumber all through this invidious night.
Raise a gun to a trembling forehead,
Wave a weary goodbye to your old friends,
Let them sing a lament when you are dead.
They might wonder why the pain never ends,
Why the prayers of good men go unanswered,
And why the defeated heart never mends.
Drink hemlock upon a bed of lilies,
Rest your aching head in a gas oven,
Run wild down the streets and alleys,
Until the devil flings you to heaven,
Tie rope to your neck and end your worries,
Time will pass and you will be forgiven.
The dying moon is laughing every day.
For the black train is coming either way.
-
Author:
David Wakeling (
Offline) - Published: August 15th, 2023 19:04
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
- User favorite of this poem: Garth Rakumakoe.
Offline)
Comments3
Very emotive words, I hope all is OK.
Andy
Yes I wrote this a while ago.A different time.Thanks for your concern
Wow... A glorious display of poetic acumen here, delivered in a series of graphic revelations... - I admire this, definitely a fave!
Thank you so much.Much appreciated comments
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