the constant

My body is a flaccid corpse,
My face a rictus mask
with all my senses, passions and distress
embalmed.

But if my eyes should fill with tears
which then descend, do not be fooled
Each pathetic blot of water is no more
than sweat from my soul

Exhaustion from exertion of emotions
finds no peace in sleep
perhaps death will release me from
this stasis

Olivia Harris

The sound of death

Last night, I died in my dream,
and as I left my body, splintered bone and blood
there was no pain, no fear, no more of me
and all there was to mark my death
was the wind roaring

I did not wake, and yet I always thought
dying in a dream impossible
But what remained and all there was
was the wind roaring

Just as my dreaming state threatened my mind with death
so did my body fight, and I awoke
And all at once, the roaring wind was gone,
its breath restored to me

Olivia Harris