A White Sheet

I went to take you wine gums, but I found
I couldn't wake you. The oxygen was performing
its hypnotic effect, though your breathing was more laboured
than I could have imagined. But that is not a problem now.

They will tend you, then place a white sheet over you,
white being the blankest of colours,
that saps away all cares, pains and memories.
We shall have them for you now.

It is hard to believe that when I speak
my voice will mean nothing to you.
It is hard to understand that between us now
there is nothing but a stainless,

smooth, white sheet.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Nine Poems

The Island The island is sterile trying to wake itself with the sound of song The island is in turmoil all its songs confused scratching, layered, barbarous The island is beautiful where it is not suffocated by encroaching blankets of trash The island is kind the warmth of hands exchanged the heartfelt sharing of sufferings The island is maybe worth saving An Abandoned Poem A bad in a squall of rain The body feeling heavy again As the world wheels lost in madness again Trapped inside an illogical brain The face of the sky is colourless, cold Like a diamond remembered somewhere in the soul But revealed to no light, feeling forgotten, old Old as the horse left to die on its own A Satire The buxom girl in the red dress is tired of pandering socialites. She would be by Euston station, propositioned by crude drunkards, the blare of the lights and stream of traffic oozing its way through the metropolis like a coarse projection of vomit. Where are the grimy backrooms, the low-lit lights jutte...
Read more