Silent witness.
A silent witness,
And a scalpel.
And a thicket of blood
Warms the lake;
Mist galore,
Marquee and tored,
A fake,
A foreign,
A whore.
She agrees,
Fabled the words
That tips the glass.
A metaphore
Life does learn,
Till death do us part.
So she parts.
On her dry will,
With her pen and her
Forbearance to quill,
He aches,
And swims in the lake.
Down and under,
His repressive slumber
And a deep sleep
Takes its toll.
Like a model,
He walks off the water
After his heroic swim.
Like marines so still,
He finds the quill,
The fabled words,
And the stained scalpel.
Poetry by John Ashleigh
Read 1244 times
Written on 2006-08-07 at 19:28
Tags Suicide 
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