DeathDeath is the line between shadow and light,
The flicker of a candle flame ready to go out.
Death is the sweet sick sensation, going upstairs,
When you get to the last step but the last step's not there.
Yes, here too
Is the ugliness of human decay.
The stench, the rot, the cold moist face,
Eyes dull and vacant, limbs stiff and grey--
Making of your beloved a twisted mockery.
But I think death is mostly
Just early morning dew
Cold and glistening on red roses,
The summer rain
That comes to join your tears.
Dark, sharp pain
Throbs as you see
Silver stained scarlet,
Open neck and broken wing.
But death is
The big, bright eyes of an infant
Who knows more than he should.
Like stars lost in the wind.
Sad, shimmering lullabies
Tangled in echoes
blusongbird 16-17, F 4 Responses 3 Jan 14, 2012