Thursday, November 8, 2012

I was just reading through my old posts on my other blog, from when I was in Iraq, and found a poem I wrote.

It's strange, dipping into the past. I had forgotten half of what I was writing about (although it came back). Now, some memories are so clear, I can almost taste them. Or hear them. Or smell them.

Here's the poem:

Next year will be better, she said, 
kicking the gravel across the road 
Next year couldn't be any worse 
that's for sure. 
She fell over and died. 
Next year couldn't come now, 
and she was fine with it. 
Those that found her body 
couldn't see the scarring 
or understand why her 
soul ran out. 

3 comments:

Lexa Cain said...

I used to write poetry like this when I moved to Egypt, things weren't going well, and I was alone. I hope you're well out of the Abyss of Melancholy now. :-)
~ Laura_6 from Blueboards
aka Lexa

Dr. kold_kadavr_flatliner, MD, the Roamin' Cat said...

If you saw what I saw… Greetings, earthling. Because I was an actual NDE on the outskirts of the Great Beyond at 15 yet wasn’t allowed in, lemme share with you what I actually know Seventh-Heaven’s gonna be like for us if ya believe: meet this ultra-bombastic, ex-mortal-Upstairs for the most-extra-blatant-and-groovy, pleasure-beyond-measure, Ultra-Yummy-Reality-Addiction in the Great Beyond for a BIG-ol, kick-ass, robustNrisquĂ©, party-hardy, eternal-warp-drive you DO NOT wanna miss the sink-your-teeth-in-the-smmmokin’-hot-deal. YES! For God, anything and everything and more! is possible!! Meet me Upstairs. Cya soon...

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