Midnight Stroll

October 6, 2015

It was the same song
Each and every night:
She arose and walked
Along the rocky path
Through the park to
Where she had died.

Her first time there,
Of course, would be
Her last. There was
No malice in her end,
Though she certainly
Wasn’t happy now.
Some folks have it
Far worse than being
Struck by a city bus.

As she strolls silently,
She takes note of the
Wandering souls still
Made of flesh, all still
Breathing, in and out.
She sighed to herself:
“I miss having blood.”

It was an odd thought,
Even for a ghost. She
Had simply meant that
There was a certain
Vitality to it, having it all
Coursing through you,
Every moment a lifetime…
And a certain emptiness
When it’s all gone.

Her pale face turns,
Once again, to face the
Bus that is no longer there.
Perhaps next time she will
Look both ways first.

MSBQ

Where There’s Smoke…

June 10, 2015

What we are told
About what happens
After our wicks are
Finally snuffed out is,
I sincerely believe,
All wrong, misguided.

It is a deeply flawed
Machine that chews up
Men’s lives in service of
Hollow ideals and pure,
Untainted fear.

What have we to fear?
The whips and barbs of
Eternal punishment seem
All too dull, the hellfire
Promised for (let’s be fair)
Almost every one of us
Turned out to be a pale
Flickering furnace, barely
Capable of heating the
Frigid faces inside.

The ugly truth of it all
Is that we control both:
We hold the targets,
And we hold the guns.
The worst imaginings of
Our final Revelations
(Such a fitting name!)
Are just that: imaginings.
The emptiness inside of
Our minds and hearts
Will, one day, consume
The rest of us as well.

MSBQ