05-19-2021, 11:02 AM
The Reading of the Texts
Summoned by death I read your texts
to find who gave you the fatal dose,
who you messaged in your final hours,
and found myself in the swamp of Hell’s Fifth Circle,
travelling with Phlegyas to read scripture
of a son I did not recognize.
I wanted to save those infernal words.
Though I hated them, they were still the words
of a son now absolutely silent, but I never could
pull the trigger on that bullet to my heart.
When I was a child I dreamed of a pit
filled with filth and victims were tossed in,
great stones strapped to their heads
so they must struggle up and down
not to drown in the slime.
Now I have my own private Swamp of Despond
where I am periodically tossed and a rough sandstone
hangs around my neck, your texts engraved in Blakean cursive.
A child’s prophecy should not be dismissed.
Summoned by death I read your texts
to find who gave you the fatal dose,
who you messaged in your final hours,
and found myself in the swamp of Hell’s Fifth Circle,
travelling with Phlegyas to read scripture
of a son I did not recognize.
I wanted to save those infernal words.
Though I hated them, they were still the words
of a son now absolutely silent, but I never could
pull the trigger on that bullet to my heart.
When I was a child I dreamed of a pit
filled with filth and victims were tossed in,
great stones strapped to their heads
so they must struggle up and down
not to drown in the slime.
Now I have my own private Swamp of Despond
where I am periodically tossed and a rough sandstone
hangs around my neck, your texts engraved in Blakean cursive.
A child’s prophecy should not be dismissed.