Many Little Deaths

Standard

Degree by grievous grief degree
We die our death
Our soul develops holes
Which lets the cold
Of cruel blow through
With no defence
To recompense
The heart wears thin
The hope it wore
To dance in yesteryear
Too fine a thread to hold
The fold that desperation
Drove to patch the weave again
Our thoughts get stuck
In no reprieve of rut
Remain there’s no change there
And so we do a dying
Death by slow degree
We go and drop by bit by bit
In step and breath
Along the way we leave
Ourselves behind to heave
With heavy heart which even
Beats retreat from life
Until there’s no desire left
To animate a love or hate
The self we lost in pieces
Lay along the loss strewn way
Of many little deaths we died
Of each day and every day

© K Barr

Wordplay

Standard

Play a round of bout
With words they break
Their sense incomprehensible
They fall apart absurd and lend
Wrong meaning make and tense
Then fool us into putting in
Some means to recompense…

So if this does not scare you
Heed warning to beware
Each word you use abuse the ruse
That words are things not air
© K Barr