A Poem

And so I find myself in bloggerland again on this day attempting to find content for this blog in my attempt to maintain more than one blog. And how do those other bloggers out there in the blogosphere maintain and find content for those blogs as much as possible whenever possible. Is there some internet guru who can answer this question. And it could be that bloggers block again sometimes. And so this following is yet another one of those posts I found myself posting on my other blog sometime a while ago. It's just that this blog seems as if it wants to become Orwellian true speak with it's times and dates sometimes:

And for some reason upon this day that seems as if it wants to appear amongst the number of days throughout the year, I find myself posting this following poem. And every so often I find myself posting poems on these blogs in my attempt to maintain more than one blog with content for some reason or another, and usually because hey, it's less writing sometimes:

Untitled

I am no Queen
I sit a widow and shall see sorrow
I kannot walk any further
my journey may end here
there are no words to take away the pain
to replace a person who is gone
my eyes are dim and heavy with grief
I kannot klose them
I do not wish to see the darkness they hold
this thing which I have greatly feared
has come upon me with trembling
kausing all my bones to shake
I am scared with dreams and terrified
with visions of what will my funeral be like
when I die today at this very moment
will there be a funeral
who will come and who will pay
will they eulogize me and what will they say
leave me to sit and decay
make me your centerpiece in a chair dressed up dead
preserve me with spices, mummify me
let the birds of the air pluck me
the best of the field tear me
till I be consumed by maggots and
dust and fly away when I die
there hath been no greater love than
that which hath been
it is the sound of Rachel mourning for
the children that never were
no one to comfort her
no where to wail lament save the ocean
why died they not from the womb
why died they not the breast prevent them from suck
shy died they not the knees prevent them
shy died they not give up the ghost that
no light shine upon this day
cursed be the man that saith the child
is born this day
it is the wake of a funeral procession
about to begin
it was a sunny day that day across the street from the graveyard
and we all laid down in our coffins to die.