Vortex

Today, just for a sunset,

I choose to sleep.

~

I hear the sound of emptiness,

Winds blowing round a funnel,

I smell the scent of comfort,

That droops my eyes, I wonder,

Have I suffered at all?

~

I’ve seen blood mix with water,

Whirls of vermilion.

Felt goosebumps on my skin,

Screams that sprout out.

~

This a’int poetry.

If I were a bard,

I would pluck petals from words,

Paint fables of childhood,

Not lonesome deaths.

Perhaps this a’int death,

But grief’s funeral.

~

Perhaps I am the source,

Perhaps I sink within.

~

Does life exist only till I breathe?

Perhaps I should die and see.

Stealthily creep back into the game,

Pretend I never lost.

Perhaps I never lost.

~

Don’t tell this tale by the fireplace.

It will not roast the corns.

Whisper it to a new born,

He won’t shun hope nonetheless.

~

Someone needs to hear it,

Yet not squirm in disbelief,

Yet not say he suffered more, nor equal,

Yet not less and mock a cruel God.

Yet smile and fill the barren,

With nectar they can’t produce.

~

Yes, whisper it to a new born,

They only love, not lose.

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