Poems

I am dropped off from a taxi,

In the middle of the country.

I seek to find a house and unload

The things to give to the man with the address of 4514 Death Road.

Endless cornfields and pastures surround me,

Choke me from their oppressive features I see,

For they indeed trap my soul,

And thus lead me in the depressing path I go.

Yet I walk past them,

While hearing the wailings of the roosters and hens,

Eager to arrive to my destination,

In the middle of this sullen nation.

I arrive on Death Road,

A gravel road of lifeless trees and woe,

And I walk along the path,

Hoping to find 4514 Death Road at last.

I thus find this address,

A site blocking me from any rest.

For in front of me lies a house abandoned,

And a field behind it stranded.

An endless green field, this is,

Releasing no feelings of bliss,

But only misery and woe,

As if death itself were sowed.

I approach this field,

Without any pause or yield,

And touch its stinging green grass,

Understanding sorrow’s true colors at last.

And then I realize at depth

That this is the Field of Death.

This is where I would die at haste

And never be able to escape.

Two hands from the ground,

Grapple at my feet with a sound,

A sound of mourning and despair,

For the hands can no longer bear

To stay in this field alone and afraid,

So they pull my whole self under the ground at haste.

And thus do I die in the Field of Death,

Another corpse in the hands of the land.

As the clock ticks seven,

I get up from my bed.

I open the window and smell nature’s breath,

Only to find a rainy day and dread.

I go to my library, and read a book,

A story about the sudden death of a man,

And then I play the piano as I look,

Outside, at the dreadful, dreadful land.

The rain defaces everything,

Trees, grass, and flowers alike,

How could this simple thing,

Take away all of nature’s light.

But then, in a moment,

I feel a presence behind me.

I turn around and see a boy,

Looking right at me.

He is drowning with water,

Entirely wet and gloomy.

His presence terrifies my soul,

And wants to make me go aloof.

I ask him, “Who are you?”

And he responds:

“I am the ghost of the Rain,

The reality of dread and doom,

For alas my life can never be at peace,

For my presence will disappear from this world soon.”

Since that day, I have felt haunted,

And my life has been one of sorrow.

Forever will I be haunted,

By the ghost of the Rain... who I saw that morrow.

As I walk out on my family farm,

Looking out to the stars at night,

I see a cow, staring in my soul,

Draining out all of nature’s light.

Her eyes are full of anger,

Her breath releases an odor of distress,

But yet, I thus linger,

Concentrating on the night stars with stress.

The second night I walk out on the farm,

The cow again locks her deathly eyes with mine,

Giving an expression of alarm,

Wanting a bloody meal tonight.

Yet, I walk away in peace,

But my soul cannot harness any safety,

For it is in a deep state of darkness and despair,

As the presence of the cow continues to oppress hastily.

The third night I see her,

She is utterly ready to commit her heinous deed:

She jumps o’er the fence,

And starts at me.

Runs me over,

And slaughters me.

And eats up my unresponsive corpse...