Death In These Moors by Steve Altman

Arts Richmond

Online - 01 November 2020

Death in these Moors,

Vanishing in empty distance.

Wallowing joyfully in my

Quest for annihilation.

Gazing upon forest oak

And laser sounds of skylark.

Feeling the grip of soft

Nature’s hand upon my throat.

I try to shake her off

And love her as a human should.

But man made laws sicken me.

They leave me numb.

I vomit out goodness,

A pile of russet leaves upon

The damp floor.

No longer am I interested.

There is a place for

Melancholy, self-loathing and jealousy.

A triad that nourishes as

Much as it destroys.

No, I refuse to banish

This rawness fused at my core.

Plunging into this cutting life force,

The death knell can wait.