By: Katie M. Moss
The warmth sustains me in my dark, lightless chamber.
The rays slide effortlessly through the bars of the window--
Leading me, begging me, to come outside.
I smell flowers, and spring, and heaven‘s dew upon grass.
I open my eyes, and see the four posts of my own bed.
The birds sound the same, in this still room of mine.
The flowers still flowers, and vines--
--wrap around the posts of my bed.
I wish I were dead.
How I wish I were dead.
For but to live, as happy as this--
Is quite surely bliss--my soul’s own new bliss.
Sustainable bliss.
From one little kiss.
Why wish for death if liviing is bliss?
ReplyDeleteBecause dying is representative in dreams and poetry of not always literally dying--but of dying to old ways or one's old life so that he/she may live again to walk along a new path.
ReplyDeleteAnd also, of course, the saying "I'm so happy I could die right now!"
And also, because I write whatever comes to my head. But, in later analysis, that's how I read it anyway.