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Slip The Knot
Folder:
Unpublished pieces
Slip the knot around throat.
Kick chair.
Goodbye.
These are visions that permeate
the fogged glass of the
room.
Is it strength?
Is it weakness?
Escape? Revival....
The room was draped in solemn figures
that mouthed words of understanding.
Pity the shapeless blur that sat
surrounded by the voices of concern.
Pity the dropping words that stuck
like pins in the
molten lava of the war.
Was there silence?
What does it mean?
I sense, rather than see,
the undertaker arriving
to measure up the body.
Slip the knot around throat.
Kick the chair.
Die.
slip the knot
Somehow I feel this would be a weakness.
we have numbered days on earth. We
shoud live these out as according to plan.
thinking abour this poem...heather