I HAVE NO TOMBSTONE
Acceptance of an invite indeed
My eyes grow fond
of the beggar's needs.
Behaggled scruff
knelt on bended knees
Withered hands are cupped;
Rinses face from a swamp green pond.
Images of Shelly's monster,
A desire to live, to love
Be blessed with humanity.
The cool freshness of stenched water
across a thick grey bearded grin-
Sick of stranger's eyes
of fear and condamnation;
for only he who's ever sinned.
Bottled water warmed through winter days
A conflict of interest;
Images mangled, demented things.
Seen through an open window;
A sky deep in red and darken blue
The horizon of fresh coloured flowers
on some loved one's grave.
Unlike the pauper's; desolate waste
To an army of ants.
My grave indeed.
By Prince Labiel