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Poetry Corner: “Rescue Me”

"Rescue Me"


I don't think death is a hard man to look at.

Not a scary scythe carrying grim reaper

wearing a dark robe reeking of fallen ashes and freshly dug dirt

right now, he will look like an angel

(to me)

bright and with a long gown ever flowing

whispering in my ear

sweet Beverly, it's time to come home

and I will dive into his arms

like a child who has missed her father.

Because he is sweet welcoming to me

like potato salad and fried chicken

that my mom made especially for me

to welcome me home

after a long trip on the road.

Right now, he is sweet and kind

kissing me on my forehead

And relieving me of my last breath

Because I was too tired to do so. Too worn to even fill my lungs. Too weary to even think about the inhaling and exhaling the in and out

of peaks and valleys

He is my sweet dreams of what others called nightmares

of monstrous boogeyman's and unhopeful futures.

Sweet song that I hear my last breath that I breathe

He says

sweet Beverly, it's time to go home

and in one sweep, I am in his arms

Carried by effortless strength that so desired me to be his engagement for the night

A long list of welcoming that for other's that will be endings

to me, a long time coming

and I am his, as he Is mine

the sweetness of the kiss of death

it has been a long fight.


Rescue me.




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