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Jacob Dufour Poem
A smile moves across her lips
She gazes at her crime
A scar across her flesh and soul
To haunt her for all time
She’ll waste away for all she cares
Never stops to use her brain
Doesn’t care about the ones who are close
All she cares about is pain
She wants to be what the others expect of her
Doesn’t care about the self-respect for her
A rose can’t be a forget-me-not
Can’t she see what all she has got
Already?
Never to go back again
She feels the world is at an end
She will never show her grief
Although she’ll cry in empty streetS
She’d sooner live like a desolate mole
Living in fear in an empty hole
Screaming silent wails alone
Content to live in her mental home
A final tear falls from her eye
It hits the ground, it’s followed by
A beautiful body, mutated by hate
A kind word could have stopped it, but it is too late
One two many bricks in the wall in her mind
Molding her demise because her heart was blind
This self conscious being could never have won
For she was destroyed by the beautiful ones
She wouldn’t fight back, wouldn’t respect herself
In the end, she managed only to wreck herself
A rose can’t be a forget-me-not
Little did she know, she had all she had sought
Already
Copyright © Jacob Dufour | Year Posted 2013
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Jacob Dufour Poem
Where am I? Why is it dark?
This isn’t what I had in mind when I left the park…
Why isn’t the wind whispering…the songbirds singing?
All I remember is a telephone ringing…
A scream and a crash and a pain in my side…
Is this what happens after one’s died?
I don’t feel like myself, I feel wild and free,
Yet I’m cold and alone, 'stead of filled with glee.
My whole life I’ve studied, and pondered, and prayed,
Trying to fathom what would happen this day
But now that it’s here, I’m beginning to fear
Maybe the afterlife’s not what it appears…
It’s certainly not what I’ve been told by my preacher
Or my parents or brother or best friend or teacher…
Is it a bad thing, or is it good?
Maybe it’s just not quite understood...
While I was on Earth, I just couldn’t wait
To meet good St. Peter at the heavenly gate
And ask him a question or query or two
“What was my purpose?” “What good did I do?”
“What’s it all for?” “How does it all flow?”
“Can I have one more body, one more try, one more go?”
But where is the angel? Where is the gate? And
If this is Hell, then where is Ol’ Satan?
Am I a lost soul? Am I forgotten?
Am I to be left here until I am rotten?
Lo and behold! what, now, can this be?
Is this a wonderful spiritual epiphany?
Is this the magical feeling all souls receive
When they leave Earth? Oh! was I that naïve?
How could I have not seen the realism?
Why was I consumed in man-made idealism?
This is more wondrous than all I was taught
Oh, all the times I argued and fought
With others, ‘bout how their views were asinine
Now I see, theirs were just as wrong as mine!
Little I thought was actually correct!
How, why, did I let others petty beliefs infect
My untouched, my pure, my virgin mind?
I regret all the hours I self-tortured to find
That compared to what I see now, I was empty and blind…
Wait - - What is this that I see?
What is this gateway that is revealed unto me?
Now a door is opened to my immortal soul
I am expected now to enter my life’s final goal…
I am scared, intimidated, but still I am glad…
For the truth I have just seen is anything but bad.
This is the end of my journey, I’ve nothing to fear,
For now I am going Beyond the Frontier.
Copyright © Jacob Dufour | Year Posted 2013
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Jacob Dufour Poem
The old man stoop atop the hill
The calm, gentle breeze brushing against his face
And through the wind there came a whisper
That seemed to come from another place
Then all was silent once again
As the old man, desolate, alone,
Gazed upon the icy stone
That did mark his future home
(The last one he would ever own).
Upon the steeple to the west an owl screeched
It's cry of despair echoed through the far and distant hills
And the old man winced in pain as a whispy limb grew near
And touched him, ever slightly, bringing forth both convulsions and forth chills
And the old man whipped around, ready to meet his greatest fear
But saw only Nothing.
But like the wind that chilled him so
And the heat from Hell below
He felt an unseen presence.
Am unseen terror. An unseen evil.
Conjured by an unseen devil.
He ignored the dread and stared back down
At the cold gray stone by the edge of town
Across the tracks not recently abandoned
With sand and fox-tails growing round
And by the stone there sat, behold,
A small and silent marigold
Which brought a warmth into the cold
That enveloped this man of old
Who smiled at this small oasis
In the desert ground tenacious
And gently stooped and plucked the flower
Transferring into his hand its power
And smiled as he smelled it in all its modest glory
And for an instant, giving him sweet shelter from his worry
And in this moment of beautiful bliss, once again the hand
Whipped across the distant hills and grabbed upon the man
And ripped out his peaceful essence, then the soul and hand
Slid back across the horizon, leaving the coil of the man
Lying cross the stone and sand
Becoming one with all the land
A smile still upon him and
The marigold clasped in his hand.
So ends his journey, by death's sting
A victim of this dreaded Nothing.
Copyright © Jacob Dufour | Year Posted 2013
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