The day I died

The day I died
I looked me in the eye
A morning sun held high
And bled the morning dry

The day I died
Speculation ran rife
One missive kept secret
Rendered the white sheets alive

The day I died
Good beauty that all adore
Grazed the sheen in quiet
Until the brown was no more

The day I died
There my body lay
In this eternal respite
Where earth is now at bay

Here's Yours

Sitting on the other side, you pick up the curved corners that spell discomfort. Say the story in ways I haven't heard. While it goes on, they come back. Settling for the attractive and hardly unchanging; that ease beckons me to restless peace. Beneath it lies a veneer of eternity, that I struggle to live with. It is foolish to imagine every speck removed, at least for me. 

Then another arrives and greets with a hint of passion. Delicately cradles the uncertain prospects of dreaming. Sound the key word and hand over a multitude of episodes. That was impressive. That was the one dream.

Scripted off the cold of my skin are sealed envelopes dabbed with indelible grey ink. They must never be opened. The records play and I find them running, and me, too. Only away. You are not new. I feel safe now. Yet I remain ugly. Seven fifths haven't taught me. For that I can't forgive. And I have promises to keep.

I'll take mine.