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poetry by deadrose @}-,--;--'----

these are some writings that came to mean very much to me. they are by a person known to some as 'deadrose,' but whom i was fortunate enough to get to know as Will...
thank you for all the words and all the times

Protector of the Meadow

To fall asleep
Upon the mat grass
Beneath a billowing Oak,
I would never
Awake.

Back into Nature's
Arms, where I belong,
And the chain of
Unruly thoughts
Are broken.

I can feel the grass
Now, in my bed;
Soft and uncut,
Cool beside the shade,
Green far unbroken
So that I am
Alone.

A wind gently shakes the leaves,
Scattered sun upon my face.
It will not burn me,
'Though I do not
Seek to touch it,
Any longer.
I close my eyes,
Losing the sun to
Red holes behind the lid.

I have grown weary for tomarrow,
And do not wish to
See another sunset.
I know that there is
No Soul to wake me for the Dawn.
It will not matter.

I hear the wind, now,
Calm, she tells me
Quiet, asks me to
Let go
Ssssshhhhh


Ode to a Dead Rose

I hear the screams of drunken
Mothers who have lost their babies,
"NO."
I live in the unnatural pause
Between heartbeats of tortured souls.
Wretch.


untitled

I can see you want
to puke
Yourself up and out of
you
I can see your ears
are bleeding
Too much of you
to listen to

You better change your
ways and fast
'Cause you're goin from
nowhere to the end
And that ain't a
place for you

Do you smell the ammonia
piss
That sticks to the words
from out your mouth?
Billyboy, you been hanging
out w/ Jim and Jack
And the rest of your
friends

But I'm just like you
And nothing but a
little girl and all those
entrails

I'm so full of hate
for you
That it can only be
Love

You're gonna eat
yourself up
And then I can
Spit you out
For Good.


Absinthe

"Bring on the dawn,"
Cries a man weary of the Night.
He sits and stares out a window
After love has been made
With his only partner, his
Soul mate.
"How much long do we have?"
He wonders, never to know the answer.
The day and the night and
The day and the night have
Gone by many times,
And still he does not know
When it will change.
"I cannot make it stay
Or disappear forever," he says
Knowing that he is nothing to the
Universe.
And so he thinks no more
Of a tide he cannot touch.
His hand brings out the bottle
As he goes back to kissing it.

Email: strobelk@alpha.montclair.edu