Your Poetry Dot Com - Meat In A Suicide Sandwich

Array ( [sid] => 185121 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Meat In A Suicide Sandwich [time] => 2018-05-14 20:59:53 [hometext] => This is not a suicide note of any sort. It is a poem about persons close to me. [bodytext] =>

Such a sandwich as I find myself-
the meat twixt two slices bread;
I, the life, the meat and matter
to slices Son and Father seeking death.

Oh, father as unknown to me as
that rock in that quarry somewhere;
not a crack or squeak but
a failed suicide;
how thoughtful, odd
to make that your half century final share.
A life as a rock in a quarry;
thanks for the update; now I know you care.
Or, perhaps you’re just stoned.

Son, you slice of bread upon me,
pressing threat of death,
your elaborate attempts,
all to fail in knowing there was never a need,
but,
in time,
I may become the bread upon which you,
the meat sit anew,
growing your own slice of bread above to be pressed upon;
me, below to fret upon. [comments] => 5 [counter] => 210 [topic] => 75 [informant] => invierno [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => anguished ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Meat In A Suicide Sandwich

Meat In A Suicide Sandwich
Date: Monday, 14th May 2018 @ 08:59:53 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: invierno

Such a sandwich as I find myself-
the meat twixt two slices bread;
I, the life, the meat and matter
to slices Son and Father seeking death.

Oh, father as unknown to me as
that rock in that quarry somewhere;
not a crack or squeak but
a failed suicide;
how thoughtful, odd
to make that your half century final share.
A life as a rock in a quarry;
thanks for the update; now I know you care.
Or, perhaps you’re just stoned.

Son, you slice of bread upon me,
pressing threat of death,
your elaborate attempts,
all to fail in knowing there was never a need,
but,
in time,
I may become the bread upon which you,
the meat sit anew,
growing your own slice of bread above to be pressed upon;
me, below to fret upon.

This poem is Copyright ยฉ invierno

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