Look Death in the Eyes

Perhaps not my greatest work ever, Look Death in the Eyes was thought up on the way home from running a PFT (physical fitness test) which I did decently in. Perhaps there's a future for this poem, but perhaps not. It will not die, oh no, poems never die, they just quit being read. Rather, this poem may go disappear from my life one day. But not now, and not any time soon. Ah well, hope it makes you think at the very least.

Have you ever looked Death in the face,
And wondered what it would be like,
To be Death, and all that encompasses the Unliving World?
Have you ever grinned back at the Unseeing Face,
And thought how shallow everything is here and now?
Have you ever gone head on with the Reaper,
Just to learn that he is not what we think he is,
But just someone looking out for our well-being,
And making us feel more alive than we ever have before?
Every time you cross a road,
You pass by Death.
Every time you wake up,
Death stands beside you, sharing another day with you.
Every time you go to sleep,
Death enters the room and waits, patiently.
And every time you step on something,
Death treads behind you, and claims what you left.
Death isn't as bad as we make him.
But he is only what you make of him.
Live with Death, and he becomes Life.
Live apart from Death, and Death is a fearsome, gruesome beast.
It's time to Live.

Ah

Distraught at my inability to write an ethereal poem, I made an attempt at another one. Make that another two. And neither of them got past the first stanza. Though they did make good efforts. This poem is what came, finally, when I just let go and wrote what came to mind. This here is just string after string of unbridled thought. Hope it at least brings comfort.

Ah, blissful peace and surrender.
Sweet, cool air, blow your gentle breath across my weary brow.
Relax my burdened shoulders.
Soothe that which burns endlessly.
Ah, blissful peace and surrender.
Give to me your contentment.
You've plenty to share.
Share it with me, who loves you.
Ah, blissful peace and surrender.

They

This poem was done during Criminal Justice class. I didn't mean for it to turn out this way, honest. I'm trying to write a good surrealistic/ethereal poem... and so far it hasn't worked... ah well, back to the drawing board.

The mist hung low over the land.
Moonlight splashed its pale sweetness
Across the barren field.

This is how it always is when They come.
When They come out and have Their share.
They come out for Their feast.

Each full moon They come shrieking.
Their screams fill the landscape
And mingle with the death-cries of the people.

Their feast is a gruesome display
Of shredding flesh and flaying bones.
Blood runs thick, mingling with the pale moonlight.

Yet no one argues. We welcome this feast.
We become one with nature.
Our life is torn from our lungs.

and we are made whole.

Evil

Honestly, this is a poem I wrote half during Business Law, and the other half during Criminal Justice. I'm not sure where it came from. I just started with the first line because it fit well together. And from there the rest just fell into place.


Slanderous malevolence
Doth fast destroy benevolence,
And quickly drives courteousness
Into the barren earth.

Wherefrom there springs melodious,
Harmonious, symphonious,
All consuming happiness,
And ostentatious mirth.

Alas, while happy children sing,
And little birds on little wing,
Fly safe upon the blustering
Wind, there still doth murmur

An evil unlike any we
Have up to now consistantly
Ignored and more ignorantly
Pursued with extreme fervor.

Hatred, all encompassing,
And murderous consternationing,
Are but two of the many things
This evil doth engender.

Now when it all comes to an end
The only thing remaining then
Is to ask ourselves just where and when
We'll end our hideous quest.

Because until this thing is done
We'll find that all under the sun
Is but a want to ne'er be won,
And joys will turn to sorrow.