The smiling skull of sadness

by Louise Watson

Holding this man’s skull is like
Holding his mind, and in it I can read
And imagine his visionary dreams which
Were slaughtered with knives sharper than
His funny teeth that used to be the rainbow
Of his jokes.

This man was once my jester and what
A ridiculous man he was at that, he used to
Carve a smile into my unforgiving face,
And erupt raw laughter from my burning
Lungs, and looking into his face once again
Happiness smiles out of his beaming
Eyes which are no more.

Echoing from his rotting soul,
Are the bells that used to ring with
Ecstasy not death, and silence
Envelops me as this man cannot
Sing one more song, and
I have thousands of breaths
Left that fill thousands of wasted
Days, which are somewhat more
Shriveled and less definable,
Like a cascade of ghosts of still to come,
Blurring the fading jester and
Digging him a hole bigger than his grave
In my memory, but with his jumping
Skull, his smile hallucinates halos
Of heaven, where surely he must
Be spilling down sunshine tears, knowing
That for the last time, Prince Hamlet
Will remember him fondly,
But will then carry on with his life
Leaving the bright colours of living