Death

From out the blue the thought of death

swirls like murky water

and deposits garbage of the world

at the point where love once entered

into the conscious mind.

 

Garbage is what no one wants

yet inside it’s sent to lie

immovable by time and tide

or by the will of mind

grown weaker by the turn-around

of the good into the bad.

 

Tested by this stacked up mess

of perceptions gone awry

and threats to life and limb

it’s like a person humbly bows

to what is meant to be

for it’s known in circles of the mind

that everything’s been said and done.

 

It’s not to say one wants to leave

the flesh held identity

but when love can’t find the inlet

and the stack of garbage grows

mind throws up a blue screen;

disable, remove, disown,

and self becomes the mainframe

from which composure flows.

 

Murky water, garbage piles;

yet somehow love’s still there

and calm the one who knows today

no evil act of vengeance

can ever kill a saviour!

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