Poem – You’ll be the death of me

A poem to scare you off. A poem to make you fall in love.

hqdefaultI will not worry,

about iambic pentameter,

or rhyme for this poem.

There is more to worry for:

I see two Xs for eyes

on my face in cartoon.

I am smiling now,

but I am not happy.

Because you will be,

the death of me.

 

I held you close,

I asked you to not cry

or worry. I want to

give “us” a try.

There is more to worry for,

I foresee, the future I see,

I am not very happy.

 

You do what is good,

for you and me.

You be what you,

want us to be.

Meanwhile I will look

at our future and scream.

The future so plain,

no glitter or sheen.

 

You will walk to a cliff,

I will catch a whiff.

And come running,

to save you.

And you will let me.

And then you will be,

the slow fall,

the gentle descent,

in an endless pit,

the death of me.

 

You will walk to a fire,

and like your squire,

I will hold your hand,

pull you away.

And then you will be,

the third degree burn,

the scalding wound,

the trip to the Sun,

the red-amber faced

death of me.

 

You will walk to the waves,

the lapping ocean

drowns, never saves.

I will wade through it all,

cut through the sand,

hold you and

return you to the shore.

And then for sure

you will be,

the bubbly, foamy

the sand between toes,

the salt in lungs,

the helpless sink,

the slow submerging

death of me.

 

All of the burning,

and drowning and falling

is my fault. It’s mine.

So forget rhyme

and listen closely,

lend your ear to me.

I chose saving you,

I am the damsel here.

And you’re the death,

of me. Just like I am

an axe and you – the tree.

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