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Matt Ponticello

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Member Since: Apr, 2012

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The Quest for Death
by Matt Ponticello
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Rated "PG13" by the Author.
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The following Poem, "A Quest for Death," is from my book "The Poet Blossomed," the 60's poems of Matthew Ponticello, published in 1984.

Quest for Death


A string of months has passed me by,

Nine times and one half to be precise.

Each time the swell rose from her stomach,

The pit of my own stretched from the movement.

Watching my wife so near death,

Brought a smile to my face,

In return for our pleasure,

Brought a smile to her face,

In return for her pain.

Pain! So much pain,

Mixed with the sighs of relief,

She whispers: “Complete, the three of us complete.”

My quest for death has now begun.


Strange I should be alone now,

With only my thoughts to bridge,

Without the interruptions I now crave,

From the one I share my life with,

Or maybe two,

   Two years from now,

Or maybe three,

   Three years from now,

Should I remain to share my life with three,

Before I press my hands hard against my window,

On that side of my home,

Where the streetlights are level with my eyes,

And gleam as a spotlight on my body laying torn,

On the concrete walk below.

Just a haze is now my vision,

Through it, I could perceive his eyes of fire,

And I tremble to touch his face through the broken


While he calls me by my name to follow him,

And beckons me in such an image,

For being selfish in my decision,

For being selfish in my quest for death.

He has cast the streets empty,

With no streetlights to shine,

No walkways to run,

No homes to seek refuge,

Leaving me still in his presence,

His eager gasping dwarfs the beats of my heart,

And his laughter is dwarfed by my tears,

And my happiness is dwarfed by his terror.

I can scream in anguish,

No one will hear,

I can stand under the spotlight,

Watching my blood ooze from my many wounds,

Seeping, slowing, seemingly motionless,

Until there is no movement at all.

I peer through the broken glass,

   He is gone!

Gone with the touch of the hand I adore,

Gone with the touch of the hand I still hold.

The haze does clear as night draws near,

It is time we sleep,

We two alone,

With our third in a crib at our side.


I now resume my quest for death.


A simple task this quest for death,

Narrowed to selfishness in my decision,

With my death I will be spared the sorrow,

Of my loved one dying before me.


A simple task this quest for death,

Narrowed to the selfishness in the thought:

With the death of the two I adore,

They will not witness my death before them.


Indeed, at times I am in question of their love.

Is it as radiant as my love for we three?

Will they entwine?

Do they understand my quest for death?


Concealed in my room,

The moonlight glistens the walks,

I lay….waiting,

Waiting for my eyes to adjust,

To the blackness of the room turning gray,

Outlining my wife laying dead at my side,

Outlining my child laying cold,

   So alone in her death.

I scream at the sorrow of my selfishness,

Alive! Existing!

Yet screaming the screams of one forever lost,

Tasting the tears in the corners of my mouth,

Praying my salt becomes that of my blood,

Taking me to eternity,

Where we three could be one once again.


A maple smell has wormed its way,

Throughout the house this morn,

And still as a drifter between reality and dreams,

I lay alone with the sun kissing my body,

My thoughts now at ease,

I settle my eyes on the three of us as one,

   Once again.

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Reviewed by jude forese 4/21/2012
consolidating ideas, principles and inspirations can definitely benefit one's state of being or at least maintain a focused perceptive ... reads well ...
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