Sleep Grimalkin (Revisited, 3rd July 2015)

♦ From my book ‘Nothing But The Rain’ ♦

Grimalkin sulked and snuck,
Matted fur, feverish night,
The witching hour lay insight,
Mistress soon would raise her head,

She baited the mouse, slithered,
Waiting to pounce and devour,
Only four teeth remained,
But still enough to snap bone,

She purred playfully to herself,
The stench of death snaked
From her throat, violating the air,
She didn’t have a single care,

Burrowing deeper still
Into empty pitched darkness,
Camouflaged from everything,
Except the touch of harbingers,

The night felt freshly fresh
Against her ancient bones,
How she loathed the cold,
Insulated she loathed all,

The mouse gently squeaked,
Her ears curiously pricked,
Soon she would have her fun,
Taste the warm redness anew,

Suddenly the air fractured,
Flashed, flared, flailed,
Leaping, she felt her age,
Disdained the world once again,

Before her, a kitten stood,
Young innocent faced fun,
Fragmentation of divinity,
How she loathed the youthful,

“I’ve come for you old grandma”
Glee filled his every word
“You’re long past due”
Grimalkin withdrew, into black,

She glared, “I have no time
For nonsense games,” snarled,
She wanted dinner before nightly
Burden, drudgery, duty,

“Your work is done old one,
now I have come,” prowess prowled,
“Far beyond your normal years
You have wrongly been enslaved”

Experience told her truths
She long knew she loathed truth,
But enslavement was an odd
Choice of stubborn words,

How could one be a slave
To time, when it was such
A precious commodity,
She didn’t loathe time,

“There is more time than this,”
The kitten calmly, caringly claimed,
Callous the words slammed
Her senior ears, loathing lingered,

Tattered, moth-eaten hair
Stood erect, shivers and shakes,
“Life will be beautiful my friend”
She loathed beautiful too,

The witch stirred, soon the hour
Engulfed, no rest for the wicked,
Was there more than aching bones?
Raspy, her voice caught inside,

Images flowed of younger days,
Before her haggard mistress strayed
And dragged her loathingly
Along her darker path, loathingly,

Playful kitten turned his head
And light illuminated the nearly dead,
Earthly turmoil she would shed,
No longer hallowed to be bled,

“Grimalkin, sweet Grimalkin,
Rest those tired eyes and know
Your time and playful prize,
“I am here for you alone”

Grimalkin loathed alone,
But she loathed this long life
Even more when pleasure
Had long since shut its door,

What was she still waiting for?
And Grimalkin bowed her head,
“If there’s more to this than dead
Show me kitten your soft soft bed”

Grimalkin, matted fur and fang,
Rested one final time, shut her eyes,
Gravely and harsh breathing faded,
And gracefully, loathing left,

Grimalkin, queen of cats,
Sat and bathed in endless light,
Basking, she breathed deep,
Loving eternal pleasures, at peace.

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Poem © Phen Weston

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