Behind The Moon

Behind The Moon

A young woman was stabbed dead,
sitting on a small star behind the moon
No one ever spoke of it, because no one ever knew
But she was murdered

That poor young woman behind the Moon

—-

More Then Dead

A young man was standing on a wooden milk crate
on top of Robin’s Hill,
fitting a noose around his neck,
when a young girl approached.

“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m going to hang myself.” he replied sullenly.
“Why’s that?” she asked, softly shocked and then
leaned against the tree beside the young man.
“I have given up. I don’t like how things are.”
The young man was clearly sad to say this aloud.
“Oh well, you know, in a way I once
killed myself”, she said.
“How‘s that?” the young man questioned.
“I thought the best way to
ease
the hurt of life
was within
the sleep of death.
It was then that I realized it.”
“Realized what?” the young man
became more interested.
“Realized that if you fall into a state where
you feel
your life
is too hurtful
and the pain
is too much for you to handle
and you then begin to wonder about the possible comfort
death could bring,
then
stay alive
as long as possible.
For in that moment, you can
die without dying.
Leave your old dead self.
You see, from that moment on, there are no worries
for what’s ahead.
You are on borrowed time.
You can just stay here in life
and enjoy yourself.”

The young man untied the noose,
got off the wooden milk crate
and stood by the girl.

Things were already better.

—-

My Floating Dead Body

I find myself floating down a river.
The hanging tree limbs overhead strobe the sunlight
above my shut eyes.
With my ears submerged under the water,
I can only hear
the sound of rumbling water
and the faint, but clear sound of my favorite song.
I can feel my cat Snowshoes napping on my chest.
And she’s warm.
Then the smell of fresh fried dough with syrup finds me.
I open my eyes and see the sun baking my top side,
splitting and cracking my skin.
Beneath me, long slimy plants slide thick against
my back
and little fish kiss my fingers and palms, tasting.
But their tickle doesn’t scare me, it makes me smile.
I see my father with my love and my English teacher from
high school.
They, and many more, run beside my floating body
from the land beside,
waving, smiling, and tossing me kisses.
I hear their voices under the water with a
wonderfully pleasing scene.
Swiftly, I move down the river now, as the current
picks up.
Now, too fast for my loved ones,
I leave them behind
still smiling, still waving.
All but one.
For she and her love keeps up with me fine.
And I lightly leave my floating dead body.
And float up
to heaven
to her.

—-

The Filler

We know the end
On every
Old man
Old Woman
Who walks by
We see it in on our parents
On the actors
And late night news reporters
Even on the aching dogs
We know the end
The cold friendless hospital room
With a white dividing curtain
To separate us from our moaning roommate
Or maybe
Just falling down in the back yard
Clenching our hearts
Or slipping in the shower
Alone for days with a broken hip
Or
Murder
Drugs, drinking
A car accident
We know the end
So what, then—
Is your story?