Noon MAG

May 9, 2009
By Birch BRONZE, Shorewood, Minnesota
Birch BRONZE, Shorewood, Minnesota
3 articles 4 photos 1 comment

Dying alone
In a mothballs-and-spiderweb bed
With only the shafts of sunlight –
Those that struggle through
Grime-sealed windows –
To hold my hand
The flickering dust motes in the air
Are the ones to stroke my face
And it is the scuttling of spiders
In hidden woven realms
With the buzzing of flies
And the clanging of the long-broken furnace
That whisper reassurances
In murmuring stream tones
And harmonize with the clinking
Of beer bottles festooning the clothesline
Dusty and already seeming empty, hollow
Those to see me off
The green turtle lamp
Paper cast cracked with time
Laying open the tender meats within
And the velveteen bear
With the falling-out eye
And patchy fur
And the dusty feather
From better days
Fluttering with my breaths
Up, down, twitch
Until it lies still
The silence of death
Is beautiful
And the clock tolls
Twelve



Similar Articles

JOIN THE DISCUSSION

This article has 1 comment.


on May. 14 2010 at 7:23 am
AndTheVinesSpin GOLD, Romulus, Michigan
11 articles 1 photo 44 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Love is the Movement" -TWLOHA
"Love is our weapon." -Christofer Drew
"I'ma get me a High School Diploma, even if I gotta steal one!" -ThisKidInMyMathClassLol

This is purely amazing.




MacMillan Books

Aspiring Writer? Take Our Online Course!