Deaths Hideous Show…#163

Note from Author :
When I create poetry, some of my followers believe that it is personal, no, the idea may be built upon ones personal perception or glimpses into my life, but it is not to be taken as fact. My blog is filled with ideas when creating, but I believe that the meaning is not only found in the act of reading (and re-reading) poetry. Sometimes we start writing a poem with one idea in mind, but by the time we reach the end of the first draft, another idea or theme has emerged. Other times, we might write a poem and realize years later that there are layers of meaning in it; perhaps our subconscious produced something we were not aware of at the time the poem was composed.

The very act of writing poetry opens us to the meaning of our experiences and ideas, especially if we are willing to give up control when we write and let ideas and words flow freely. Free writing is an ideal practice for generating mysterious raw material. I find my poetry to be dark, eight decades of experiences gives me a wheelhouse of raw material on many subjects. Please enjoy.

 
Deaths Hideous Show…

 

She asks that her bed of death

be free of greedy heirs, her last

breath she favored, not me.

Greedy did not bring them to

their knees. I kept back tears I

will not weep! There are worst

plagues than tears. I would now

find the freedom that my life

has been denied; then at last,

I can give up my hope to find

love from she who carried me

within and gave me life.

 

Spare me the whispering crowded

room, family and friends that come

and gape and go; spare me the

ceremonious air of gloom, which

makes death a hideous show. The

future that undiscovered mystery,

which one feels deaths wings.

Bring none of these to me; let me

be silent in the dew of the morning,

this world that I was born. The

same world that will continue to

last when I am dead.

 

I find that the universe is my home;

my mind treads on every day, which

brings the sun, the moon, the stars;

oceans, streams and lakes; every blade

of grass flows within my veins. Keep

from me all mortal strife, and praise

each little breath for from it I will

find my eternal course in life.

 

Spare my feeling as I gaze upon each

day, let me grow, stay composed, mind

clear. When my time is near let me,

accept it without fear. Let my spirit

go to work no more, to wait no

more; I ask that you shed no tears.

 

©elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 

Author’s books at Amazon.com and Barnes & Nobel.com

 

https://www.amazon.com/Flying-Broken-Wings-Charlotte-Murphree/dp/1547051329/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=elizabeth+ann+johnson-murphree&qid=1586107137&sr=8-1
Charlotte 1

Charlotte Jean Murphree – 6 Months

5 thoughts on “Deaths Hideous Show…#163

  1. Good words. Whether they are personal or not… 🙂 I don’t write poetry. Only fiction (or non-) Now, obviously all characters in my fiction come from my mind. Even the most treacherous villains. Tells a lot about any writer’s mind, doesn’t it?
    How are you holding up? So far so good?
    Stay safe.
    Brian

    Liked by 2 people

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