Sunday, January 9, 2011

you will not know what hit you--

you'll be walking down the street

admiring the sky

thinking of your love's birthday

or a new job

or hopes for some sanity

to return to our society

and then you stagger

the lights go out for an instant

and when they come up again

everything is brilliantly bright and defined

and you look down at your body

with others huddled around it

and before that tunnel opens and you race

up into it toward that growing speck of light

there is a moment of hurt and confusion

in the bardos

as you see your assassin escaping into his own darkness

and your anger fades understanding the hell he has

consigned himself to

while you will go where you are loved

to wait for those left behind that you love...

Content (c) 2008-2011 Philip Milito.


Stephanie Cowell said...

I stumbled across this poem and found it very moving! So glad to visit your site!

Philip Milito said...

Sweet friend...thank you for this. You know how lonely writing can be. Hearing a voice out of the wilderness that you know and can trust is like finding an oasis in the Sahara.