“I Felt a Funeral In My Brain” and “The Poets”

I Felt a Funeral In My Brain

And the ghosts, as they
flooded through my veins
dragged a coffin made of bone
through vines of tendon
and muscle torn

I feel the scraping in my chest
hauntings deep
within my flesh
thorns of knowing
blind my eyes
cursed or blessed
with second sight

the ghouls, they wail
in my heart
plead as I may,
they don’t depart

I scream in agony
Your Name in vain—
there is nothing to be gained

cursed to house the hearts of dead
my own heart
has up and fled.

The Poets

I am searching for answers in
the poets.

Sat by the dim light of hope,
in a worn armchair

I peruse their words
and wonder how they know
my mind.

I watch my life play out,
reading like a well worn script
in Emily’s dashes—

Sylvia’s desperation is lifted
straight from the marrow
of my bones

reflected in the words of a
woman
who died before I
lived.

Our words intertwine,
flowing a red river
tinged with the blood of our lips

rushing, rapid,
with the energy of wonder
innocence—
our unshakeable belief
in the beauty of humanity.

I am searching for answers in the poets
because I had them
in a past life

and I’m sure I wrote them down
somewhere.