Promises of Pain to come

My imagination is a canyon,

streams of consciousness carve through the tributaries

eroding with each flood.

One path is deeply cut and the pain is a long acquaintance.


Vivid particulars spark between neurons

decades in prediction I can see

my mother lying on spotless white sheets

an IV dangles from a breathless being

a stifled whimper.


It echoes into the present,

the river of thought reaches the delta,

tear ducts dilate with clinched fists. 

There is nothing I can do to stop an end for those I love.

The face is replaced by friends, family, lovers,

Wrinkled and grey the inevitable fate for some;

but Death awaits all.


Why man fears his own death is a mystery,

it is the only consolation in the face future grief.

An end to personal suffering but not to those left behind.


Theme: Imagination of evil


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s