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Stilling Time
Beneath some ugly, repulsive
 Death
 Is a bitter love.
 Franticly dreaming
 To have life.
 Awake with sleep.
 Delirious with beauty,
 Moaning that woman’s name
 To create
 A symphony of screams
 To wake the dead.
 The language of dreams is a sweet one,
 It suits time.
 
 Stop.
 
 A sordid tale is being told
 Of the sea being still.
 A pleasing picture for
 Ships and sailors.
 But not for me.
 For this stillness
 Springs death.
 Ugly, repulsive
 Death.

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