Dancing

A nice morbid poem on death for you today. Just to say this is not an actual experience of my, just one of the things I fear happening to some good friends fairly regularly, friends I confide in, so you can hopefully understand it better. It is also supposed to be in the shape of a noose, a feat that is harder on screen than on paper, so sorry for the imperfect shape.

.

                                               Dancing

                                                Jigging

                                                Moving

                                               Drifting

                                               Swinging

                                               Hanging

                                            Stillness falls

                                         The breath stops

                                            Stillness falls

                                            For e’er more

                                  For you                Could not

                        Stand living                        Any more

               So you trusted                                The swinging rope

 For stopping your life                                        Taking you last breath

          Because you could                                Not keep going

               You stopped your                        Own suf’ring

                                   But did                You think

                                                 Of  me?

.

Hope you enjoy, please feel free to comment.

The Lonely Recluse.

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~ by The Lonely Recluse on July 13, 2011.

6 Responses to “Dancing”

  1. I could feel the jiggly sad tune. The effort to design the noose and the poignant emotion embedded touched me. I enjoyed it 🙂

    • I’m glad you enjoyed it, I’m not so fond of it, I’m a bit dissapointed about how it’s turned out onto the screen really but such is life. Thanks for your kind words.
      The Lonely Recluse.

  2. At that point in someone’s “life” only they “exist”.

  3. I admire those who tackle shape-poetry (is that what it is called?) … those who take their own life – rarely realize the aftermath of their decision.

    • I think the posh term is concrete poetry, but shape poetry makes more sense. I understand that, but often the people left behind don’t, I was mainly writing it from their perspective.
      The Lonely Recluse.

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