Poems: Confusion, and Muddy

[hawkwing_lb]

Confusion

If I desired death, would it not be
a surcease, ease, the sleep
to bring pain to a close?
If I desired death.
But I do not desire it
it is not death but
breath I desire;
Life is nectar,
intoxicating ecstasy;
ecstasy falling soft like rain
ecstasy in pain
who knows
where such freedom may be found?
But not in a coffin, not
in a grave within the ground.


Muddy

Hold a knife to paper
White
Do not bleed, blood is
Blight
On that pale canvas
Red
Drying to black
As if cleanliness was the lack.

Human life is a muddy
Thing
Pretend otherwise, and you
Sing
Lies to the skies, and still more lies.
Death?
No, that isn't clean
Either.