Sunday, January 28, 2007

poem: Death

Death

Sometimes, fear strikes me with a dagger
sharp as a shard of diamond,
cold as ice
Cast in Death's shadow
as he passes by
with noiseless steps,
not with clanky chains,
Harder to prepare yourself,
to defend yourself with
an armor of air,
warm breath of life
that will reduce his sword
to a child's light sabre.

He had touched me once
with his bone fingers,
cold with slime,
gazed at me with black pits of darkness,
grinned at me like the corpse of a murderer.
I watched him strip flesh
pain so immense...
that screams brought no relief
to the tortured body,
I felt him breathe his rotten breath
upon the mind, soul, spirit,
they choked, struggled, flailed
for escape even as tiny as a keyhole.
I heard him laugh deafening echoes
loud as beating war drums,
unheard by the funeral-suited people
holding black briefcases on the street
in fast-forward motion.

I long to kill Death
but my limbs remain fettered by mortality,
so I can only make a wish
a wish upon a random star
shooting by in cold nonchalance,
that I will not see Death again...

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Written at 3:32 AM