Death

Groping in the silent dark for threads of some guiding rope,

Swiftly slithering through my hands goes sliding past my eyes.

Following the blood-smeared floor into the basement soot.

Slicing skin and excrement under my watchful gaze.

Buckets full of pouring mucous drowning out the noise.

Angry that I’m powerless to reach the blessed place.

Grasping onto anything of value that I had.

Death has been an awesome friend before it came to me.

But now I melt hot through the bars toward an afterlife,

That does, and somehow does not exist in any realm of fear.

2/7/11

jkf