Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

I rose from the ash
with dirtied face and bloodied hair
and they feared me.
I watched the men come
carrying sacks full of fear and the dead
and they wished to murder my joy at the unbounding
of spirits.
I sampled every delicacy only to turn away unsatisfied
for nothing in life was to my taste.
I sat as all prostrated themselves for my favour
yet still the hunger arose.
What is this? That this ghostly procession would cry open with
                                                                                        hurts
for all mouths! That I alone shall die, pouncing upon sin with
                                                                              jaws at 45!
No, no I alone shall live with a smile
on my face for the suffering.
I watch their spittle spread out like umbrellas in storms.
So come, come, insects call this:
Sister lover to my discomfort we shall dime tonight!
The whole world turns in columns for your existence.
Will this ease you? A toll upon your souls! Content yourselves
                                                                                        then.
Am I to taste the odour of pleasure instead? I am all wet at the
                                                                                        mouth
with the thought!
Petty, I am so petty, what of death?
Well it is not to my liking either,
it is too clumsy to love
and not retarded enough to pity.
Yes, I have lied to my mother, to my father, to those intending
to cure me, it is all true for I wanted everything for a while.
o that these rocks wild in rage
would crash against the epicentre of pupils
for then, at least, we shall have
an ending.