What the Dead Know
By
Serena Mossgraves
Regrets add weight
To the soul,
Leaving knowledge
Of what life has been
Stripped away
From all that was
Worthwhile.
Instead of fighting with
What the Dead know,
The living should be
Thinking about how
To live instead.
Hell
By
Serena Mossgraves
I read somewhere
That Hell was a place
Of fire and suffering,
I think not.
Hell is familiar,
That place you go
over and over again.
Hell is repetition,
and unending.
Hell is the moment
where the pain feels
the most like home.
Perhaps there might
be suffering,
but in the moment
would you see it so?
Or would you merely accept
that this is all you have
ever really known?
Flutter
By
Serena Mossgraves
The first sensation
Nearly too much,
So when the darkness comes,
Seeping across too warm skin…
Maybe it was enough to bring
The asylum doors open.
The crimson flower
Blooming into the abstract,
Making sure I doubt whether
It was even reality
Or just the flutter of
A dream.
Wave of Death
By
Serena Mossgraves
All things need oxygen.
The brain included.
Is life ended with the body,
Perhaps the most contested thought
The soul released when the body dies.
But what if we are still inside,
Starving for air and dying slowly?
Does the body work to survive,
And the wave of death
Is the release of the soul
From the house
The soul has built inside?
Dead Inside
By
Serena Mossgraves
The problem with life
Is expectations are so high
So much drama and the cost of pride.
It leaves everyone feeling
Like they might just be
Dead inside.
It drills holes in the soul
For emotion to crawl into
To hide.
Grief
By
Serena Mossgraves
Wallowing,
in the darkness
allowing the weight
to hold you down…
Perchance it is death
in the moment,
only you have forgotten
how to drown?
when even the breath
is more than you know
how to release,
How is it possible to
find peace in grief?
Dead Inside
By Serena Mossgraves
The problem with life
Is expectations are so high
So much drama and the cost of pride.
It leaves everyone feeling
Like they might just be
Dead inside.
It drills holes in the soul
For emotion to crawl into
To hide.
Two from Serena Mossgraves for a change.
As many of you know I try to use Serena for my more gothic pieces. I posted the above in a poetry group on Facebook. A private one as I was not ready to share it. In my mind it spoke of finding reasons to live…Facebook flagged it as speaking about suicide or self harm.
I have had my poetry with Serena misunderstood before.
This one I wrote about the Dahlia Murders…and I was promptly told I was writing about the female anatomy.
I am saddened by the removal because I would have loved to have the other poets feedback…but I guess that was Facebook telling me I wrote something worth censoring.
Being as she finished with Gathered Bones and I am working on formatting it… I thought I wanted to make today about Serena.
Pattimouse 