Tag Archives: disease

The Madman’s Furious Tolling


Atop a distant hill
sits a bright white church
constructed of weathered wood,
brick and mortar
crumbling at its corners

It takes the right or wrong eye
to mark its edges,
as either true and straight,
or jagged as an age-old eroded
crown.

Green rich pastures roll around
its foundations,
capturing the height of its walls
in the folds of a land
that endure its weight,
pressing ever down
while far below its
hallowed grounds
the roots have become
diseased and begun to whither.

Through a dirty pane of glass
you will spy a seeming man
in shadow residing.

He is a slumped, disheveled figure,
silhouetted by a dying day,
chafed hands always holding
rough hewed ropes secured tightly
to the bell higher up in
the proud tower.

He waits for the sun to fall
to horizon’s knife edge,
for everyone knows
all devious deeds are best
done in the dark.

Death has come
to this cursed land
and that man
is Death’s sonorous
escort, pulling on the bell
furiously like a madman, as
the pale rider
stampedes through the town
to take its rightful claim
in the night on through til
dawn’s first morning
light strikes.

Yet, all the town knows
Death shall surely
return again
when the madman
continues
his furious tolling
in the bright white church
high atop the hill.

By Philip Wardlow Oct 20,2020

UP or Down


Up or Down
you are still around
Know that. With a heart beat
that’s fucking fierce.
That beauty, that soul, that spirit within
still tolls and tolls and tolls
Oh they toll
Through the ever darkness
a smile, a grimace, a groan
You struggled and you struggle still
you so struggle still.
In bed you laid, fetal
Epitaph gouged out with bloodied fingernails
on wooded headboard
saying “She lived, but where has she gone
and will she ever return and in what state?”
Little does she know
She has gone no where
she never has.
She’s been in it, the visceral reality
sitting heavy upon her chest
choked out to almost
the last breath.
Yet, she struggled out the words FUCK YOU and
GO TO HELL!

So when gravity abates, should
she praise the fickle forces
in their absence?
Fuck them even more, so she says
Fuck them even more.
My heart beats
with no thanks
My heart still beats.

 

by Philip Wardlow

for my friend Candice Louisa Daquin love ya sis  🙂
catch her great work at her website at:
https://thefeatheredsleepcom.wordpress.com/