Afterlife

It’s happened.
Easy as harvesting red berries,
simple one skillet chicken alfredo pasta—
do not clean the pan,
the brown bits at the bottom add flavor to the sauce
just as snippets of life flash before the eyes,
seconds before blackness claims us
and we are led into a purgatory of sorts;
do I intimidate?
Does my skin sublime remind you of yesteryear’s lust
and unresolved feelings?

Poetic religion is not for everyone,
it crucifies nights and befuddles the day,
distracts,
torments and leaves the senses shredded—
like blue cheese and strawberry salad
beguiles
until one is left with no choice but to abandon all means
of rational thought and succumb;
does it appeal to you?

I gaze toward the ashen clouds contemplating life
that’s been left behind,
an orchestra of lovers and foes plays on the nightstand,
yet with one eye half-open
I look on as if waiting for events to alter themselves;
nobody can be fine all the time.
There is a kiss amidst these words, it’s for you
dear reader mine,
like a recurring dream
I keep coming back to life with the fume of a Poet’s sigh.

 

 

 

Photo credits: Truls Espedal, 1973 painting – Pinterest

Join me as I invite others to write Gothic poetry tonight
on dVerse, the last round of Poetics in 2020 💝

Posted for Poetics: Exploring Gothic as a Literary Genre @ dVerse Poets Pub