Funeral Song.

 

It's the constant swell.
The ever present,

un-ending pulse in my

neck that keeps doing

what it was meant to

do.

 

Pulse.

 

And I can hear it now,

even if faintly, it's a sigh

in the throat, an empty

remembrance of what

that swell means.

 

I'm stained in the blood of a

thing that kills me, of an

object that animates and

dissipates, that lives and

breathes but to end my

life.

 

Pulse.

 

It's the quickening, it's

the revolution of pain,

the desire to crush and

put down what's inside

with violent intent,

with massive amounts of

sorrowed strength, and

bursts of focused distress

at any length.

 

It's ever soft as the time

goes, it can barely be heard,

and soon it'll be completely

silent.

 

The pulse of the dead can never be heard.

 

But the death of the living, can deafen the world.

 

 

Reviews

[PENS FOR PEACE /TJ CALI..]

A very great poem!
We the living especialy us writers must take the charge of producing light and hope to this very darken world and speak truth and shine our bright lights of hope agianst all this dasrkness of despair!
If we are not part of the soultion we will become part of the problems of this darken world!
We can always make a difference by being the loud voice of those departed or who are crying from their pain and despair!
We can and must always be that voice in a all this dsrkness!
A very great poem and you are a very talented and artistic poet!
Keep writing from your soulf for the good of all souls!
Keep writing you are truly making a great difference in this lifetime!
Always a friend!
TIM

[Joseph - Michael]

That was quite pretty good descriptions in slow, yet intense ways. I enjoyed reading the whole thing, I even like how you've used "Pulse" like that. Somehow, you've made the ending far the best lines than the rest of the writing. It's like a motto, a philosphy quote, things like that, so I seriously loved those last two lines...

Other than that, the rest are really worth reading, so no worries there...