Dr Death

Thoughts on dying.

Image Credit: 
Public Domain

The computer says the ID number and prepares to administer imminent death.

As I tiptoed through the tulips
Doctor Death came and tapped me on the shoulder.
“Argh!” I cried aghast, “Can’t you wait until I’m older?”
“I only want to ask the way,” he said.
“The way to the station.
I only want to ask the way
to the station for Death Nation.”
“The station for Death Nation? No, I have no notion!”

I turned and walked the other way
but curious of spurious
I had to look again.

A bat flew from his eye, or where the eye should be.
I saw the depths of Hell
through a vague transparency.

“How should I know?!” I screamed, agape,
I’m getting angry now.
“Leave me alone!” I shrieked,
guilt upon my brow
“Oh me me me.” He laughed.
“Me me me
me me me.” He sneered.
“It’s all about me.”
And in a chink I saw myself
reflected back at me.

His mouth drooled with blood
and his teeth
gnashed in my face,
gunge dribbling down
like thick
and graceless lace.
Then I felt a bony finger
piercing my inside
below my soul, but part of me,
the centre of my symmetry.
It sizzled and singed the berry of flesh
which shrunk and drew away,
as the toes of crows gripping a branch
on a bitter windy day.
“Try to fly!
Try to fly the storm dear crow,
try to fly away!”
“My wings are tired,” croaked the crow,
“as my vigour and desire.
I’ll sit and brace what’s thrown at me
The drudgy, ugly mire.”

tried to spew my anger,
tried to spew my hate,
tried to spew my selfish,

a tidal wave of birds came crashing from the skies.
It washed away my sick and whipped away the scythe
“My scythe! My scythe my scythe my scythe!”
Came the skull’s pathetic cries.
“How will I slice you, and skin you alive?”

grovelled and begged me on his knees.
I sent a call out to the trees.
The birds came sailing on the breeze,
dropping away like autumn leaves,
until the object that would him please
spiralled downwards
like a piste of skis,
cracking his jaw like crackers and cheese.

Imminent death postponed.
Then I recall seeing Buddha, sitting under a tree.

Una Sombra sometimes does painting and also likes writing.

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