Dawns & Evenings Meet
for V.N.P.S.

you have to sink your own ship
you seem to be expert at it
don’t ask me to assist

you have to clean your own shit
it’s stinking up the place

hope you like the taste of suffering
thought the Lord suffered sufficiently
already

is it not enough to eat his body
drink his blood, to taste of it
to participate in crucifixion
as well as resurrection
to rise upon ascension day
has it not come and gone

why are we stinking as if decomposing
as if in a sepulcher still
why are we killed
why are we killing still
blood spilling still

I thought that page in the story
already read, over and done with

thought we could have fun with,
in, for the rest of our days

rest, sunsets to savor, the rest of our days

in a daze, too full of too many bad days
given, taken, too many bad ways

spoken too many bad words
in a world gone bad, gone mad

choose happy, not sad
upon writing pad, leave poems
no suicide notes

how harmonious are the notes
in Mozart’s sonata for harp, orchestra, flute

like Wordsworth, I wish my days
bound each to each by piety


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
7:12 p.m. 25/08/07