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Created on: December 15, 2010
Black Sheet
I lay bedridden on this oak,
when out from my closet
appears a pitched, muslin cloak.
If it's not Death to warn me,
once again of foreseeing my graved body,
then let it be my serrogate mother
clutching hands with my feinding brother,
as a threat by lurking behind that door
that beat hand twists the knob,
ever awaiting my coffin with pumping vessels
that deliver my heart a finished throb.
Death!
I take this interjection to a final rest.
Though with a stubborn wake,
I ask a light to this candle
to bound a heaping quake.
I see no day not serene with
all its miraculous glories!
A witness of the water glassy and still,
sky clear of clouds, the winds stir
the grasslands and leaves
for a showcase of green.
If to sail upon the face of the
Northern Pacific sea,
it's not that of a golden ship, silver
or copper ship I wish to greet,
but only friendship.
Heed this call,
when a standing picketed fence
splinters with a discover of
a cultivating love, after all.
Therefore, joker, multiplying
all your jokes, refrain to stand
in those ragged, muslin cloaks...
pointing a skeletal finger
at an abused lark, when it's the earth
she has not left her trail on, feeding to embark.
Collect a toll, collect a fee,
deliver me from this death bed
and gather what you wish from me.
Learn more about this author, Cosette Capulet Rose.
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