Such a Waste
In darkest night a single shot rang out,
a body lay upon the preacher's stage;
the pages of a Bible strewn about
were evidence of some unholy rage.
My job it was, to solve these heinous crimes—
the holy dead man here was not the first.
Though I possessed a sharp deductive mind,
it had become my blessing, and my curse.
These men were foolishly all targeted
by some poor fool, in superstitious zeal,
who used a silver bullet to strike dead
the werewolves they must have believed were real.
The true sadness was one they'd never know,
as in the moonlight, I felt my fangs grow.
© 2023 dustygrein
the night bus.
I am a stitch in a swatch of people
Hush whispering, wheels rolling, walls humming
The bus's lights glow dozing blue and dull
The liminal sings through rhythmic drumming
A man in dirt-caked cargos strums his bass
A woman wearing cleavage cries quietly
The endless strings of souls I can't amass
An archive of loves and lives lost to me
A bloodless voice from speakers above
A boy flees past the doors onto concrete
Never will I see his worn face hereof
The basses strings simmer beneath my feet
Heavy eyes; brush of a bony shoulder
Listerine and cleat cheese down the corner
"Write your own story," the empty book said.
"Let others read the wealth of your knowledge,"
Putting pen to paper, the book was fed.
Of people, places and things did I rage.
"More." With trembling hand and seizing muscles
I frantic'lly poured out my darkest thoughts.
Brought into the light as the spectacles
they are, I thought of myself as I aught.
"Don't stop." So I wrote about sadness and
anger, fear, embarrassment, happiness
and the like. Once done, unable to stand,
consciousness swirled. Steeped in my catharsis.
I was finally able to let go
and reevaluate all that I know.
Where do the ghosts stay at the hospital
The sick who died without an even chance
The patients who left without remittal
Of diseased parts that pushed them the distance
Of all the ghouls who come to those who fear
There aren't those more fright'ning—to the staff
Who made the mistakes that haunt each career
And leave the trail of death on their behalf
Arithmetic mistakes preclude recount
As when concocting potions meant to heal
These are the blunders making death tolls mount
And guilt that does not pay for lives they steal
The horror tales that spin of wraiths and ghosts
Ignore the places where they're brewed the most
My heart sings a tune of happiness amidst all things great
As it heralds the dawn of a new day that draws nigh
The roses of summer grown on the fence’s main gate
Whilst the birds sing their lovely tunes with a sweet cry.
I love the breath of the flower’s fragrance so strong,
The smell of freshly mowed grass lingering in the air,
As in green pastures I roam and lie therein ever long
Within the flowering bushes and animals so fair.
I will whistle a song of love and purest delight
As I weave along my merry way and explore
With no one and nothing barring my sight
Until my eyes feast on my dear Geordie, whom I adore.
’Tis no wonder the delight of summer days well spent
Are the dearest of times filled with joy, knowing no discontent.
How do you destroy a monster without becoming one?
To not end up like the thing you hate the most.
I ask this question as my time is almost done.
As I watch my personality become a ghost.
I watch the smile on my face become fangs
I see my eyes without their humanity
My heart ices through the pangs
This facade brought me to insanity
If I am a sliver of my true self, it seethes
It is an evil twin but internal and inhumane
The thoughts stay in my mind even if I leave
Because never being good enough haunts me night and day
The people are satisfied and the guests leave the house
As my evil "twin" and I play a mental game of cat and mouse
So toll the bells, the bells of Hell, my soul;
So when I hear the knell of bells from Hell
Then I can pay as well the hellish toll
To quell these heart-whole tears and say farewell
And so I creep and grope in Hell’s morass,
Up his steep slope Ephyra’s king still lopes
Where Ocnus shapes his rope to feed his ass,
Near pool and grapes untouched which Atys gropes.
So shall I find you there and pay the fare?
The ferryman shan’t wait for man nor child
Nor me, bereft, heart-sick, gone wild to bear
The loss of love, of you, unreconciled.
And lo! My steps will lead me back in kind
Without the one I went to Hell to find.
I had a dream I could not understand.
Be patient while I tell you what it was.
Take my hand and I will share my dreamland.
I will take a minute in between and pause.
I want you to know what I have been through.
And you can understand what I have seen.
And you can know me a little more too.
I've had some problems since I was a teen.
In this dream i found true love but lost it
The strangest thing was the man in my dream.
I met him sitting at a firepit.
But it wasn't as good as it may seem.
He took my hand and whispered in my ear.
You will push away people who get near.
Dry your salted tears my sweet simple dear,
Tell constables when death is at behest.
Aching bones stand limber under long years.
Cold eyes know there is no jest in your breast.
Life's foulest fell from foot to dirt cradles,
Bury them deep so none wake from slumber.
What bounty left, may only be tabled.
Those living are weak and easy plunder.
Sacred, wicked hands alike steal treasure.
Crows caw on iron wrought fences in mass.
Their greed knows no particular measure.
Plots of land, fresh to bodies grow no grass.
Only fifthly beggars, wanton letters.
Chained to despots with coined perverse pleasure.
Right now (on June 12th)
Marnie is in front of me
She's giving herself a bath
No sign of a flea
It would feel my wrath
Today is a Monday
No rain in sight
Yet the sky stayed gray
Without a single beam of light
Midnight will strike in 60 seconds
And then I'll slam this laptop shut
My tired brain, it beckons
We must sleep to break this rut
I pull the covers over as I lie beneath
Tomorrow when I awaken it will be Tuesday, June 13th