Poem as I lie dying

[As the title says, really… well, at least, I wrote it t’other week when I was laid up with food poisoning and thought slipping away was a distinct(ly unlikely) possibility – enjoy!]

Fading light and I feel heavy

I hear Death gurgling within me

Feel him in each laboured breath

One more expired until I rest.

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Look Up/Look Down

And so it starts…
eyes down, hushed
mind games or blind luck?
can I still count on friends
or am I surrounded by enemies?

Look Up
safe – for now
the screams of those less fortunate
pierce my ears

Look Down
comrades fallen
fewer targets
nowhere to hide

Look Up
scrape by,
again
but soon
will come
the end

Look Down
sweat drips
bodies shuffle
where now can I turn?

Look Up
into their eyes:
instant, dramatic
death.

 

[Well wasn’t that exciting! This gripping tale of survival and betrayal is actually just the game Look Up Look Down, which I know of from often playing it with opponents after matches at ultimate tournaments (we call these post-match games ‘calls’ and I’ve no idea why). It’s one of my faves. Hope you enjoyed this piece of silliness anyway.]

[To all my regular readers and friends on here, it’s good to be back! I seem to have managed a post most weekdays for the past fortnight or so, after a little quiet spell, and the reception back into the WP community has been as great as ever. Much love to all of you.]

Pride

[Evening all! Found this reading through some old work and quite liked it, so hopefully you will too. A slight departure from my usual style, which I enjoyed. Shout out to my good friend Jake of Granola For Dinner, who likely helped me edit this back in the day (thus any mistakes are his and I accept no responsibility). *end disclaimer, start poem*]

Pride

The bitter taste of bile and blood,
A battle nearly won.
Though vict’ry’s air was sweet to taste,
The cost had been a son.

All around him friends lay still,
Ne’er to breathe again.
Yet tall he stood, with pride in tow,
A king, he must remain.

Time soon passed with summer scorch,
And winters cold with frost.
Then though the land grew green once more
He was consumed with what he’d lost.

In sweet birdsong, a rose’s dew,
The king saw only death.
Bleak and black and burned in guilt,
His mind a blazing wrath.

Wife departed, sons all slain,
What now, did he have left?
The razor drawn at the setting sun,
The king saw only death…