poetry, not poultry, that is.
MOMENT
moment
I check my pulse again
As we were trained
To be our own doctors.
Trouble
A compassion that feels like cruelty
And takes on a guise
Of torture.
Yet death lives in life
As life lives in death
And as these bedfellows live
So do I.
For even though for awhile death lives
Life never dies.
JOB
I will be silent
I'm declaring it now
The Lord of life spoke in the wind
I had heard of you, Great Being
But now I have seen
And so I shall not speak again.
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