Why oh why not commit suicide
Rather than unalive other people
There is a blackness in a heart
To do such a thing for any reason
Of course one must be disturbed
But that seems like a whimsical word
For such a despicable human
Old enough to premeditate murder
A photo and we see skin hair eyes
Blessed to appear normal outside
But the inner spirit surely soured
To pick up a gun and execute for power
You may say suicide is a sin
I say kill self rather than others
Since you feel so divine and inclined
Ready to meet your maker
No one wants to die how you kill
And sit in prison for years you will
Soak up time your victims lost
While death penalty is likely tossed
Because you are saved by grace
You didn’t give
Ironic
Categories:
unalive, america, art, grief, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Because only the living die
Will I die If I am not alive
The living only live to one day die
So shall I not die if I do not live
If I do not live then I shall not die
Because only the living die
Merely living to die
Is only something the living do
Is to wish to live…to wish to die?
Is not something to be willed with an eye
But the will of a heart, willing to live only to one day die.
Since I cannot be unalive and not die
Shall I perhaps live and will with a lie,
That one day I will not die?
No,
Why should I not die if I am alive
Because only the living dies, I too one day shall die, because I am not unalive.
I shall not spend my time wishing and willing to not be alive so that I do not die
Because while wishing and willing not to die, I will live only to wish, lie, and eventually die
I know my wish will not be recognized, so it would be a simple waste of wishing, lying, and living
Being unalive would not grant me the right to a beautiful life
And because I do not want to die, I want to live until the day I die
Categories:
unalive, courage, life, love, remember,
Form: Rhyme
We want to instantly harvest the fruits of our aspirations
But cant stand perspiration
Planting seeds steadily that form no roots lack of dedication
Easily led to frustration
Afraid that we may stumble so we drive
Where we should walk
Our tongues sometimes to humble like unalive
When we should talk
We see the paint but unfocused the picture
Then want to critique
Thats like entering a bank wanting a loan to be delivered
But credentials weak
Skipping various portions of the alphabet
Vocabulary needing those discarded consonants
Skiing without caution then comes regrets
Like killing and leaving the evidence
Compliments on the mannequins fashion
Disregarding the behind the scenes action
Categories:
unalive, education, food, life, people,
Form: Free verse
Unalive
I am unalive. I am not dead
but neither do I live: I exist
in black & white, which are uncolors
(mixed together they make gray).
Sight, sound, movement & sensation are
mere mechanics by themselves . . . love lends life
joy & enjoyment. I’ve seen music
dance with emotion; I’ve heard colors sing
in chorus & shadow wooing light. . . your visage
whispers into focus, appearing in the past
tense. Nostalgia recalls better days; intimate,
poignant nights . . . ah, those fragrant, sensuous
nights! Your eyes bristle with reproach
& damn me with disdain. I am reconciled to
remorse. I am unalive. The saline of sorrow
surges to my stubbled, haggard face;
dissipation gnaws neglected flesh & the stench
of stagnation pervades this vacant room . . .
where once the color of laughter rippled like a
rainbow; where now the funereal silence of
solitude enshrouds me in its pall &
my body is the heart’s tomb.
Categories:
unalive, loss, me,
Form: Free verse
BETTER THAN GOLD
International literati pay homage
To our hero’s literary courage
Matching Homer’s and Cicero’s of old:
Dr. Ram’s words are better than gold.
Author of countless gems of art
Always a SOUP figure right from the start
Giant of words and verse to behold:
Dr. Ram’s words are better than gold.
Standards of style and lexicon to uphold
He often to me the secrets has told
Occasionally has also needed to scold:
Dr. Ram’s words are better than gold.
When needing advice or lost in a fog
When rhyme is a marsh and rhythm a bog
And my poem is stillborn, unalive, cold:
Dr. Ram’s words are better than gold.
Categories:
unalive, dedicationwords,
Form: Kyrielle
Time is a rusted blade
Ripping when it cuts
Bone, and fat and guts.
Life is a tragic clown’s charade
Time’s nicked knife will slash;
Props, and back-drops, crash.
Only proud puppets never fade:
Sawdust hearts survive,
Deathless, unalive.
Categories:
unalive, introspection
Form: Verse