The Poetry Marathon

It is Time

Hour 5, Prompt 13, Year 2021

I lay coughing in my bed at night
The same routine as had been for several months
But somehow, today felt different
As always, I was surrounded by children, grandchildren, great grandchildren
Trying to cheer me up and waiting on my every need
But inside, I felt
Colder, darker, quieter
I knew it was time

Earlier, I had reluctantly said goodnight to my family
My eldest daughter had just turned fifty
And I had another great-grandchild on the way
Of course I didn’t tell them that I knew
That it was time
But it wasn’t enough time
It wasn’t enough time
It wasn’t enough time

Whoosh! The wind picked up speed, almost shattering my window
A mist formed in the room
The windows were closed so it wasn’t the fog
It was time
The mist slowly solidified to a silhouette
Exactly how I had imagined Death would be
Now the silhouette had arms, legs, a body
And finally, the face

But what’s this? Not a wrinkle on this face
I had always thought Death would be an old curmudgeon
Just like me
But here I saw a young boy
Gaunt, inexperienced face, translucent arms and legs
Mouth puckered in adolescent sulkiness
Similar to the sulkiness of age
But different nevertheless

“Who are you then?” I said to him
“Well, The Grim Reaper, who else?” said he
“You’re but a boy,” I shot back
I had nothing to fear if it was time
“A boy I am indeed,” he said to me
“But I’ve been dead for 90 years.
I was killed as a teenager and asked to serve
As the Grim Reaper for a century.”

“The gods choose us every century
Those of us who are sharp of mind
But don’t fit in with the world they are born in.
Then, without telling us, they kill us
And bring us to serve our sentence.
My turn is almost done now
And as I near my eternal vacation
I think of how it would have been
If I had grown to this age while alive.”

He picked up his scythe and carved the air
A white passageway now opened
As he led me through it my body felt light
Devoid of all weakness and cough
I looked at his young unweathered face
And I thought of the life I had lived
Milestone after milestone flashed in front of my eyes
And made me smile as I departed

I knew it was time
It was the right time

ONE DRUNK VOICEMAIL FROM ARCANA XIII – Hour Thirteen (2021)

ONE DRUNK VOICEMAIL FROM ARCANA XIII

 

if they don’t see me in a rainbow they don’t know me

if they don’t feel me in the grass beneath their feet they don’t know themselves

if they don’t recognize me in the phoenix they only know their fear

 

I made all the mountains and fields out of growth and decay

all greenness fed from bodies corroded to dirt in my loving hands

crushing cling to it crumbling faster into another lesson let go

 

darling my wish is that you come here and sit beside me

marvel with me at this beautiful agonizing reality

surrender to experience

defeat me through acceptance

Hour Thirteen, Death and the Image Prompts Together

Old Man Under the Mountain, Reprised

Mother, how may I keep Death away
when on our door he knocks?

Son, he may only approach and harvest
souls where death has existed before.

Mother, how can this be, when even so much
as a swatted fly invites Death to visit?

Son, dying is no longer possible
when Death’s effects can be reversed.

Mother, then how can this be, when everyone
knows Death is final?

Son, Old Man Under the Mountain
is shielded from Death beneath his golden dome.

Then, dear Mother, I will find the Old Man,
I will bring you his shield, and then we will never part.

The Old Man, he was difficult to find,
yet find him I finally did. The trickster,
he trapped me and I took his place,
far beneath stone, out of sight
of his golden dome in the sky.

At long last I was released, a successor
then took my place. I ascended stone steps
to the earth and sky once more;
I captured the sun and rain for my shield
and returned to my home once again.

Dear Mother, I have returned! I joyously
proclaimed near our home,
but Death, that trickster, had found her.
Old Man was Death, gone to see her
the moment I freed him, the devil.
He waited for me, still he sat in our door,
and Mother, dear Mother, was no more.

Poem #13 — Haiku

Electricity

Tingles through my fingertips

When you hold my hand

Mystical being of death | Surya T | Poetry Marathon Poem 13

It was time, I could feel the chill in my bones
Death was approaching near
my time to say goodbye is here

It floated towards me, the mystical being of death
It was not like the depictions of the grim reaper
No scythe, no black dress, no skeleton behind the hood
Just a hoodie and the face was covered

“Shall we proceed?” it asked me, with a voice familiar
“Proceed where?” I asked. The voice was feminine
It took off the hoodie and my wife’s face appeared
“We are to leave the land of the living” came the reply

“You are still alive. I can see you crying beside me”
“Yes” the voice replied, “This is just a form”
“Why her?” I asked, “Why my wife?”
“Why not the regular grim reaper?”

“Because death is a misunderstood concept
The grim reaper is a scary sight, isn’t it?
I cannot take you scared to a place that is sacred
So, I take the form that comforts you”

That’s when I noticed how she looked
A grey hoodie with random letters scrambled on it
and navy blue pajamas with a fake Nike logo
my wife’s favorite clothes to laze around in

“What is this place we are going to?” I asked
“You shall see for I cannot describe it in full
Centuries of visiting it and I’m still not sure
Each to their own experience, I’m told”

“Are you death?” I asked her
She nodded in affirmative. “Are you scared?”
“I don’t feel anything. Not scared, not happy either”
“That’s good” she replied. “Helps when you reach the gates”

“What’s after this life on Earth?” I asked
“It’s an experience you need to experience for yourself”
She conjured a staff from the air and handed it to me
“I think you’ll find this useful”

“You said it’s a sacred place” I asked her
“Yes. Isn’t birth, rebirth and death sacred themselves?”
“I never thought of it that way” I confessed
“Yes, that is a misguided opinion among humans”

“Why is there a grim reaper then?”
“Isn’t that something you should ask another human?”
“Maybe they told you when they found out”
“The ones who see me do not live to tell the tale”

She smiled at me as she extended her hand
“Take it, our journey is long” she said
“I shall listen to the stories of your life”
“Okay” I replied, taking her hand and pulling myself up

I saw my body, now a corpse, lying on the bed
“That’s how I looked, you know” I pointed to her
I smiled a half-broken smile as my body went further
“My time here is really up, isn’t it?” I said

“Yes. It is” she replied, seeing my head hung
“But a new adventure awaits you”
I managed to keep my smile and took my first step
“I’ve been waiting so long to listen to your story” she said.

-Surya T

Hour Thirteen ~ You Came Before

Text Prompt

Write a poem where death is personified in some way.

 

O’ Death, You Came for me

Hour 13: Death

Death

 

If God is Change

Death is Certainty

there are no questions

or details left unattended

nothing left to Chance

(who would undoubtedly be

some haughty and commanding figure)

Death knows both you

and the itinerary

inside and out

 

Death will appear

in the form through which

you can best comprehend

the gravity of the situation –

their expression is wry

as if they are

always a step ahead of you

and they are

a sardonic sense of humor

is necessary

for the particular task

 

As well as curated kindness

like a nurse

with a frightened patient

like an old friend

a guide

a guardian angel

or a kind top

walking you home

when it’s time to go

Ravens Watch the Night

Odin’s eyes aside

Divine colors paint the sky

rainbow bridges shine

13

The grip goes round my chest
It feels like a pressure
Slipping up to my neck
But the grip goes tight.

I can’t escape
But I don’t try
Either.

For 2 months straight
I have drank one ounce more
One shot more.

Two nights ago I blacked out
Smeared shaving cream all over my coat
And vomited on the floor.

I have been death a u up text
Nightly.

I am waiting for his answer.
Tonight he does.
With a tight belt and a tighter grip.

I don’t want to die
But I don’t want life

I let the grip go tighter.
No escape plans
No clawing
I have determined the up is gone
And I am sick of descent.

I awake.
Head throbbing
Oxygen deprived
Alive.

Death let go this time.
I hope he won’t again
At his next midnight visit.

Hour 13 – The Last Conversation

It’s time to go now, my child…

 

No! I can’t. I am too young, my kids are too small –

 

You’ve raised them well.

They’ll survive

 

I don’t want them to survive…I want them to live!

I don’t want them to scrummage and

scrimp, bags under their eyes, skin peeling off their feet – NO!

They should study, and travel and laugh

without abandon!

How can I make that happen if I am not around?

 

They’ll get to their destinations one day.

I promise you, they’ll be okay.  

 

But I want to be there –

for their graduations and weddings

and heartbreaks and successes –

 

You can always watch them from above – 

 

But I can’t make my son’s favourite dish from above

or hug my daughter and pull her cheeks.

Can’t you make an exception – they’ve been through so much

 

So have you,

you have fought hard,

you should be proud,

you did everything a mother should.

 

It’s not fair, others get to hold

their grandbabies and

live long enough to befriend their daughters.

Who’ll be there when they are lost?

or scared or confused?

 

They have each other, they’ll always do.

Their lives will go on without you.

They love you so much, you’ll stay within them

and you’ll find each other, in the end.

 

But –

 

Let me take care of you, my child

let me take you to the heavens above

your heart is failing and lungs are tired

I wish it wasn’t, but it’s time to leave

 

Then leave me be till the very last second,

let me soak in their faces

let them soak mine.

Let it be only me and them tonight

please don’t linger by my side.

 

Alright my child, I’ll step aside

but come morning, you must abide

for the road is beautiful but it is long

You needn’t worry, 

I’ll carry you in my arms