Dear o’Death

Dear o’Death, that’s what you’re called
when calls of punchy self-pity ring at three when
you’re alive but fears of close calls of
Theft erase all the flowing blood
you have left.

Dear o’Death, who escaped its clutches
twice. How could I forget
when that’s all you talk about
‘Back in the days’ of when
you’d still know the meaning
of a dazzling life.

I can’t criticise you.
– You escaped Death twice.
I can’t complain,
– you escaped Death twice.
I can’t ask for help –
– you escaped death twice.

You left for a year unannounced and that’s alright.
– death took you thrice.

All that escaping had you forget how to be alive.
You’ve let me behind on a deluded dream-chase
when death had actually killed you three-times already in your life.

What’s it like to be alive,
taking others’ humanity to keep your
lack-of-one thriving?

o’Death Dear, there’s nothing
left for your namesake to take.

Shadow of an idea that stayed too long,

Shadow of an idea that stayed too long,
that was unwelcomed, unnannounced.
You’re just the shadow of a hope
that dreamt against my will,
that bumped into my mind
stolen every sullen corner.

Sweet. Beguiled.
If you’re a sweet then I’m your queen.
But as I’m not, and as you were,
This day too long, my passion

These words are slow.
The best about slow songs is dancing so close,
But this isn’t a song,
It’s not even the start.

It’s a reclaim on a stolen space.
And this someone, new hope,
I hope he fills it well.
I hope he stays.
You’re someone I didn’t’ know.
A condemned man only by your chosen fate.

Whose shadows remain despite the noon-high sun
which fills the world with spring-white-taste.
With haste I’d wish you’d leave.
Whose shadows shouldn’t exist.