Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
The inner gasp
With delight, I dance in
The world of the dead,
Souls soaring like angels
To heights I've only dreamed of.
Their wild bellows chill
My spine and I hope to be
Like them soon; so aimless,
These ghosts suck the
Essence from my core and
Leave me withered.
Somatic fevers bring me to
This realm and I find
Salacious pleasure in exploring
The inner workings of
An invisible reaper, shrouded
In carnal joy as it points
A sallow finger at the doomed.
The positive is to cease,
To gasp for that guilty pleasure
Of air before the body
Collapses into a pile of why.
The lore is never real, that
Death is painful as we
Monitor our life's success before
Permitting our bodies to
Succumb to the reality we ran from.
1-20-10
The world of the dead,
Souls soaring like angels
To heights I've only dreamed of.
Their wild bellows chill
My spine and I hope to be
Like them soon; so aimless,
These ghosts suck the
Essence from my core and
Leave me withered.
Somatic fevers bring me to
This realm and I find
Salacious pleasure in exploring
The inner workings of
An invisible reaper, shrouded
In carnal joy as it points
A sallow finger at the doomed.
The positive is to cease,
To gasp for that guilty pleasure
Of air before the body
Collapses into a pile of why.
The lore is never real, that
Death is painful as we
Monitor our life's success before
Permitting our bodies to
Succumb to the reality we ran from.
1-20-10
Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
The inner gasp
The inner gasp
