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The Journal of the dead
 
The Journal of the dead what would it read
Today we eat dust and, walked on duckweed
Tonight we all partied and waltzed through walls
Disturbing the living; with white overalls.

Tomorrow truly who knows what that’ll bring?
Floorboards’ squeaking a baby is mewling,
Graveyard was, crowded so I went for a walk
And, then flew alongside a sparrow hawk.

It soared up over an ancient coppice
Felled once a decade to warm some goddess
Her flesh without fire, cold as a river
That flows from a mountain through a fissure.

The Journal of the dead what would it read
Today Jesus blessed me with good old mead.
I joined the flock pursued by a collie…
Ambling like a lamb lost in the valley.

Closing this book I now too must here go…
Say Amen and rest like fresh winter snow
Putting down, pen, my own Journal is done
The last page is torn goodbye, everyone.

The NO FRILLS CHALLENGE

By Mark Heathcote

© 2017 Mark Heathcote (All rights reserved)

 

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This Poem is part of a Challenge: - The NO FRILLS CHALLENGE--read page for complete rules and info (challenge has been closed)


This Poem is part of a Challenge: - The NO FRILLS CHALLENGE--read page for complete rules and info (challenge has been closed)


This Poem is part of a Challenge: - The NO FRILLS CHALLENGE--read page for complete rules and info (challenge has been closed)


This Poem is part of a Challenge: - The NO FRILLS CHALLENGE--read page for complete rules and info (challenge has been closed)


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