Posthumus
Posthumous
I’ve seen death passing by,
looking through her glassy eyes,
silenced by her inward shrieks and dumb.
Escaping presence,
all the while stepping closer to clinch on.
Where the precipice submerges
failing you in flight.
Shot with the last shot,
there was to be downed.
In the spring of hope fading glitter,
falling above wild realities.
Where birth meets its end,
left is back, and you taken aback.
Without actual looking back,
where sneering behind you, is a fortune.
And there’s no place,
or time, to consume you .
Cracks are spreading their legs,
in the narrow passages of mind allegories,
and defeat comes and goes,
to remind you, not to forget,
and comes back soon.
You would go and shelter take,
or steal else’s daydream,
decomposing in its poorly lit corners.
And deceit, in surprise wondering...
over its confusion, caprice to be loved.
And your miserable package,
carried everywhere, with no care
rising to fade away and again.
Roads taken along the way, of ills that infect.
Scenes of a crossroads on a verge
of defining their own ways, and doubt them after.
Darted into obscurity of news
to be printed in focus, so to miss the point
of your visions swollen veins.
As never giving up cliché,
birthday, or whatever you say,
a pointless celebration, of yet another day.
And as much as silenced,
and as much as deliberately invoking,
what there was,
I do keep in mind,
that it was chillingly cold,
and that patterns outside,
where looking shocked
and laughed.
And that it was your play,
of a different screenplay reading,
guns you shot so well.
I’ve seen death
was looking into her
glassy eyes.
Silenced in that friezing, chilly night
of your declaration of love without love.
Filled up and stinky with,
or without one to become,
scrupulously posthumous.
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