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Destruction and Death

destruction, death, hope, poem, Judith H. Terry

I always think to myself how smart I am,
a mere egotistical fool.
Even a child knows the origin of ham,
but I think I am the head of the gene pool.

I walk erect,
my head high.
I feel my goal is to direct,
my head full of the lie.

I was born for greatness,
to be the highest amongst others.
My soul in readiness,
my goodness above the most gracious of mothers.

I was meant to be the best,
it is written upon my destiny.
My behavior need not ever transgress,
my influence to change even infinity.

They laugh behind my back,
they call me names.
Understanding of others I lack,
as they think my place is amongst the insane.

Everyone sees me as being awkward,
a waste of the human mind.
That perhaps I should go with them backward,
to the stone age time.

My ego is shrinking,
my voice loses its touch.
My eyes are blinking,
but my heart is in the state of ice crushed.

Everyone looks to me,
knowing my pomp is gone.
They all laugh at me,
the terror of before sings a less frightening song.

No-one ever wanted me,
so this is no great change.
Their looks of disgust, I say let be,
their thoughts of me as one deranged.

I want to be more,
to go and fly up high,
but for others such a challenge is a bore,
though for me nothing is greater than the sky.

I feel like dying,
like hiding my head.
All I do is start crying,
and snuggle into bed.

Alone I stay,
unwilling to go out,
lest another humiliating day
will result in another embarrassing bout.

I want to breathe the air of originality,
deep within my soul it lurks with spontaneity.
I want to be as I was born to be,
but no-one wants to live with just me.

No-one wants the original mind,
no-one wants the honest, kind friend,
everyone wants your bones to grind,
and to see you to a merciless end.

Alone I stay with these thoughts in mind,
as I cry with the passing of time.
Once when I was ego and more,
now I can, no, will not peer one eye out of that formidable door.

Perhaps I am meant to be alone,
not wanted by anyone.
At least a dog has its bone,
I guess for unfortunates like me the sun is undone.

And now I sit, my life over,
no going to visit the Strait of Gibraltar or Dover
I sit and now that it is my end,
an end without a single friend.

No-one cares for me at all,
just a useless, ugly cow,
meant only for the milk for the grand ball,
but my use thrown away, unneeded without even a gracious bow.

The end has come, now this is true.
My heart is heavy, my face blue.
The only step to happiness from this mental repression is death,
And I shall be finally cured once I have that elusive, beautiful, wanted, but always ultimate last breath.

I sit and wait for it to come, and it shall be sooner than you think,
and finally I will have that happiness, it will finally be mine, with my last vision of the world all with that last, wonderful, beautiful, ultimate, and anticipated eye blink.
Remember me as a silly girl,
who believed that she ruled the world,
but always remember this:
that this girl died happily a death, never to be missed, but certainly in bliss.
Published: 2007-01-04
Author: Judith Terry

About the author or the publisher
My name is Judith H. Terry. I am currently studying in the fifth year of a Bachelor of Medicine and the Bachelor of Surgery degree at the University of Pretoria, Republic of South Africa. I've written a novel, a play, poetry, and short stories in the past. I am currently working on a medical novel that intergrates health within the context of person, body, mind, soul, and environment.

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