Immune to Tragedies, Meandering between Jack-O-Lanterns
I am Severus Snape, the mysterious savior.
Only my eyes I have.
Only my eyes I can save….for now.
I go on stage soon. Love me for however long I’m here.
Depression paralyzes the human spirit. With time….I’m gone.
At forget-less thirty, I go to the ocean.
Jack-O-Lanterns, be no more.
I remember few girls, I remember many women.
I let them be. I let them live without me.
I went on stage today. Finished! But you can’t teach the blues.
Lost trails are viral, both in my life and during passionate pursuits.
And now I’m sad because I’m leaving nothing but “alone.”
At forget-less thirty, I go to the ocean.
Jack-O-Lanterns, be no more.
Write these colors on my heart, which water washes away.
In denial of my rights to air, your smile brightens my day.
And I saw her in the audience today. She, the color of purity.
I’m going insane, but it’s better than dying officially or internal.
So I’m medicated. I believe in the heroic dolphins.
At forget-less thirty, I go to the ocean.
Jack-O-Lanterns, be no more.
And you said that intimacy wasn’t an option.
Like Riddle, my spirit was broken into seven.
Involuntarily, and each brake represents a murmur.
Every low point skips. Cardiac arrest on the move.
The stage has vanished. My fellow cast evolved separately.
I don’t know where life starts, and death ends.
At forget-less thirty, I go to the ocean.
Jack-O-Lanterns, be no more.
And I rose early today. I’m sorry I did.
Last night, I rememorized memories miserably in mind.
I return to the stage next week. I’ll finish strong.
And Papa, I’m sorry I didn’t listen….
Back when both eyes could gaze upon RADical hypocrisy.
I feel lost, because sorry doesn’t satisfy the apologies owed to many angels.
To Chelsea, Laura, and Ariel. The first wave.
Kelsey, Chelsea, Summer, Eliya, Mary(s), and so on.
And Nicole, pretty angel, this line is for you.
“At forget-less thirty, I go to the ocean.
Jack-O-Lanterns, be no more.”
“Think of a memory, a very happy memory.”
And Remus Lupin is my definition for public education.
It’s three-thirty five, and the stage sets while anger rises.
For the Japanese Maples and Dogwoods wither in vain.
Space confuses me, and I wonder if Jah is flesh.
And witches are real. They mock me from Thomas Leath and beyond.
Pumpkins ripen quickly in Dixie, that’s why horror is pre-carved.
I’m lonely for the haunted, so haunted, stop haunting me!
At forget-less thirty, I go to the ocean.
Jack-O-Lanterns, be no more.
Robert Alexander Deason Peace
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