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Michael
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-13
Posts 7666
California

0 posted 2012-06-19 12:09 PM



Thanatos


I was not expecting him, still, I was not surprised he came.
The day, but a stagnant dwindle of hope upon the chain
We oft call time, lack-luster, dull; the evening drawing nigh...
His timing was impeccable, I met the doorbell with a sigh.
Content, in thought of letting whomever it was outside freeze;
My eyes glancing across the room as slow as they would please,
"Go away!" said I while picturing the dismal overcast day
Of Oblivion outside concurring, forcing this meddler away.

Another knock, agony wrought, felt I grinding of teeth.
"This had better be good," I thought; muddled darkness beneath
A grandiose display, exhaling, then rising in disgust,
And ideas of verbally assailing one to piles of dust.
For no one at all to witness, newspaper thrown to table...
Forty years of bitterness to unload as soon as I was able;
How the unwary would pay toll, trying to sell me this subscription,
Or, even worse, save my soul.  Yes, this man would know affliction.

So, graciously opening the door, donning my most pleasant smile;
All contempt, still waiting to soar, was suddenly placed on trial.
Temperature dropping to a near freeze, the voice in my throat caught;
I felt the weakness in my knees... ' lost track of conscious thought.
The temporal displacement of woes I'd manifest into being,
Now seeming miniscule in the throes of anguish I was seeing.
No mistaking his identity, no mistaking his intent!
My life, a wash of self-pity I could'nt bring myself to lament...

A billion words of protest balled up to one skin tight knot.
I gasped.  I choked, all hopes walled up; all reason let to rot.
I still sought my best filibuster, I did not wish to die.
Till, with all gumption I could muster, but one word squealed forth, "Why?"
Without a word, without a sound, my guest just cocked his head;
Butt-first striking his scythe to ground, with eyes glowing bright red...
"It is not yours to demand, it is yours, simply, to come."
He said, raising skeletal hand, while my whole body went numb.

"There's still so much I've left to do!  Surely we could reach some deal?"
Inches from my chest, his hand withdrew; then, again, that cold voice, "Kneel!"
I stepped backward, he stepped forward, a pattern that repeated;
Till, not sure if of my own accord, we were in the kitchen, seated.
The fruit in the bowl between us I noticed started wilting,
Though pierced by those red eyes' focus, again with his head tilting...
"How is it you resist my command?"  I answered him with silence.
He again raised that bony hand, I then answered with violence.

I flung the fruit bowl on a whim, somewhat suprised to see
That it actually bounced off of him...  He was as solid as me.
So, the frying pan next 'me on stove, I swung as hard as I could;
But, at the last second Death dove, and his face came forth from his hood.
I'm not sure, exactly, what I saw; I just know I stood frozen.
Perhaps compassion was my flaw, perhaps it was forchosen.
I did not run, but knelt instead, to watch him rise before me;
And knowing I would soon be dead, released what hopes still tore me.

I'm still not sure words were spoken, so much as placed in mind...
A mind, now very much broken by the echoes left behind.
He reached out and he touched my head, and my world fell to black and white;
Except for roses bleeding red, in memories spawned from his spite.
I came to see, through visions drawn, that I'd done all this before.
I'd fight to live, and then live on, until I could fight no more.
Then Death shows up to claim my soul, if but one piece at a time;
And leaves me in this sinking hole of fractured dream shared through rhyme.

With every part of me he's touched wilting like that bowl of fruit,
I simply let go what dreams I've cluthed.  What point?  Life is all moot.
Sixty-seven; all hopes, all joys...  In eightyfive, my pancreas.
Handed, myself, Pandora's box of toys; God, how I curse Prometheus.
In eighty-seven he breathed upon my eyes.  In ninety-nine he took my left lung.
Two-thousand-twelve, the brains now writhes; oh, just let the knell be rung!
Every thought and memory now vague, except for Thanatos' laughter;
Consciousness now flounders in his plague.  It will forever after.


Michael Anderson


Did I waste it?
Not so much I couldn't taste it.

Bono

[This message has been edited by Michael (07-06-2012 07:04 PM).]

© Copyright 2012 Michael Anderson - All Rights Reserved
niteismyday
Junior Member
since 2012-06-19
Posts 35

1 posted 2012-06-19 12:47 PM


Wow, you put a lot of creativity and thought into this poem. I congratulate you on that. This is very well written and I love how you portrayed the many aspects of it. Nice job.
ebonygirl
Member Elite
since 2011-07-14
Posts 2000
California U.S.A
2 posted 2012-06-19 02:02 AM


You know Michael, your poems are like chapters.
Put them all together and you'd have a fascinating screen play. Always enjoy your work.
Ms. E

JerryPat2
Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975
South Louisiana
3 posted 2012-06-19 07:04 AM


Ms E is right. This one touched me completely. At first I thought God was at the door, but wasn't, of course. The reason I have been taken so personally by this is because I have been doing a lot of thinking about death lately. Your words help me clear up a few thing inside my thoughts. Thank you for that.

~*~ If they give you lined paper, write sideways. ~*~

Startime1955
Senior Member
since 2012-04-22
Posts 1072
Alberta, Canada
4 posted 2012-06-19 10:00 AM


Absolutely stunning...*BIG HUGS*

*may our dreams ever be magical*

suthern
Deputy Moderator 1 TourDeputy Moderator 1 Tour
Member Seraphic
since 1999-07-29
Posts 20723
Louisiana
5 posted 2012-06-19 01:53 PM


I knew it would be good... In fact... I knew it would be great. And still I'm floored... flabbergasted... flattened!

I'll be back... when I remember how to breathe. *S*

Poet deVine
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-26
Posts 22612
Hurricane Alley
6 posted 2012-06-19 02:16 PM


Invest in a Kindle and upload your book of poetry. The world needs to read you Michael!

This is chilling..

suthern
Deputy Moderator 1 TourDeputy Moderator 1 Tour
Member Seraphic
since 1999-07-29
Posts 20723
Louisiana
7 posted 2012-06-20 03:11 PM


I wish you could have connected with that frying pan - at least once for every part and piece and day and dream lost. *S*

This is magnificent... and is now firmly nestled amongst my all-time favorites... right up there with a certain fandango. *S*

Michael
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-13
Posts 7666
California
8 posted 2012-06-26 08:46 PM


Niteismyday, Thank you for such a fine compliment.
  
ebonygirl, not sure I would want to watch it, might seem like a horror story to me, but that is a neat concept.  Quite a few times I reference other poems I’ve written by title within other poems, so read in sequence you can gain a broader picture of the mind of Michael Anderson… but like I said, it’s more of a horror story.  Not sure you’d really want to go there.  
  
JP, yeah, Death is a sneaky character, don’t let him fool you.  He only takes those who don’t really want to go with him.  The rest of us he just gives drive-by teases and taunts.  Seriously, if this poem granted you any insight at all, I’m flattered.  I hope all is going well with you.
  
Startime1955, Thank you.
  
Ruth, well, I’m probably happier that I didn’t connect.  Ol’ Death probably holds grudges you know.
  
Sharon, well, I’ve probably enough poetry for a few books now…  I would probably seriously die before I got it all uploaded.  How about I just will it all to you and Ron and you two can take care of that once I’m gone?  


Michael

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