| Subject: Back From A Cataleptic Rest. |
Author:
Pegasus
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Date Posted: 12:46:45 06/25/04 Fri
Can't breathe, again.
Suffocating fear
paralyzes my chest,
no one is here,
yet, also no rest.
Once inflicted by pressure
from the outside in,
nowadays it builds up
from the inside out.
I really wonder which
hurts the most,
I really can't tell anymore,
pre, at or post.
Something makes it blurred
that should not have occurred
but it has been done
"An Ye Harm None...".
"Do What Ye Will...",
so simple,
yet I paid the bill.
Laying flat on my back, cripple,
a cold draft kisses my erected nipple,
or is it death's preheating foreplay spasm,
some say dying is life's greatest orgasm.
Once again the window laces dance,
fresh air flows, but I stand no chance,
of ever being able to breathe free again,
or to contemplate,
while chewing on the back of my pen.
On the chair, where I left the bible open,
a frisk wind turns another page, token.
Or is it my spirit paging?
Death? Presaging?
Touched by The Light he opens his eyes,
paralized by a stroke he healed,
still too shakey to pick up his new life,
given to him as Healer and Guardian of the needing,
obviously passed all the tests,
as he managed to steer free from the Seven Sins,
to go for a living halfway Heaven...
(sorry for typos if there are any. I suffered a stroke. That's why I went away.
The poem may speak for itself...)
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