Death March

There’s something I’ve been dealing with lately about which I can think of one hundred reasons to keep my mouth shut, and only two to speak up: because I need to, and because someone, somewhere might need me too. I’m amazed how difficult it is sometimes to honor those two reasons, even though often when I take the risk someone responds: “me too.”

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Death March

Me too.

When I confide, finally

With great trepidation –

What will he think?

That I’m broken?

Damaged goods?

Will she think I’m tainted?

Marked?

Will they stay or go? –

So often comes the answer

I’m least expecting:

Me too.

Me too.

My God, who are all these people

Beating us,

Raping us

Leaving us by the roadside

Of silent death

Listening to the passing footfalls

Of comrades

Lovers

Brothers and sisters

Mortal enemies

And friends?

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©2013 Jason Anderson

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Killer on the Loose

Author’s note: I struggled over whether to post this short poem, but maybe someone can relate to it.

Killer on the Loose

A whisper haunts

Mind’s moonlit curtains

It spooks the cobwebs

Remembers itself anonymously

A musty breath or gasp

It stalks, unseen

Preys unheard

In its ungodly heart

How it screamed!

But then ears were small

Were its palms open or closed

Little difference

I live

See curtains, feel breath, smell must

Hear nothing

It has swallowed its roar

Deadlier in perverted memory

Than in form

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©2013 Jason Anderson