by Cosette Capulet Rose

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.

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