Christopher Michael, gay, gay poetry, homosexual, lgbt, queer

Sonnets to Death

I Would Die Tomorrow

I would die tomorrow, were that I could, go
And be gone and done with this, save that
I am not ready to die.
I long for death as one longs for sweet love,
Respite from pain, I crave sweet reward in
Heaven resting with angels.

I would die tomorrow gladly, and be supped
Of this mortal coil twined around my heart.
I’ve begged for death, as one longs for
Silence in the graveyard sleeping with the
Death, as one longs for dearer music and
Cries for God’s mercy.

I would die tomorrow, knowingly, with full
Blessing for that time augured here with pain.
Grant respite from bitterness, from life tossed
About it ocean’s shore’s, its labors and passions,
Its misery and defiant woes, all gone save love.
I would so gladly go.

Oh that I might die this night, or some other shortly,
Peacefully in slumber, wrapped in the soft sweet
Kiss of death, leaving naught behind but what was
Mine, of little value all. Sell those weary gimmicks,
Buy a headstone for my grave.

Oh yes! That in slumber nightly, God on high
Perchance rescue me from nightmares, that life call’s
Dreams.
Call me to what lies beyond, ancestors or simply sleep
As death.
I’ll not return, none ever have, to say what lies beyond.

Death Came Calling

 He called me sweet by my name,
He called me softly in his loving
Hushed voice and bid I follow him,
Bid me go.

Bid me traverse this highway from
Stodgy earth to that place where death
The devil in burning hell? Or is that merely
Bubbe mises told to scare the shit out of
Children and keep them quiet?

In slumber he crept upon my bed, leaned
In folded me into his soft and loving cape,

Bore me upward, asked naught but
Slumber well.
I will remain dead, above me the toils of the day
Linger on.

I dreamt that death was lovely, a fair maiden
Come to dance the long night away, a fair
Young man come to make love and burn out
Cares and woes of life’s relentless battles.
Death came sweetly, make love to me as death
So often promised.

Now sing me a lullaby oh sweet and gentle
Death, then call me unto thee and with plaint
Sweet notes on a lute play.
Carry me away and bring me home, home
To God or hell whichever be thy choice.

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