Written on the 19th April, 2011, Death fits ito the Free Verse and Imagery categories.


Death, death, so much death.

Does it get any easier

when the last note of the hundredth symphony is played,

when an echo stops resounding in the thousandth magic cave;

or do despairing souls delight the ones whose business proud

Death is?


Humans quiver on this blade,

lives the fragile wings of moths,

and whether brave or shy or numb

when weary down they tumble, slain!


Death, death, so much death.

Does it lose a little pain

when the great, long standing thousandth tree is felled,

when the millionth smiling child has packed his game away;

or are we doomed to spend our days with black-clad hearts

and black-clad souls?


Angels tremble as we walk,

seeing each and every fall.

Night looms over Brightest Day;

Winter muffles Spring's sweet song.


Death, death, so much death.

Shall we suffer awfully still

when the millionth mind is kissed and sleeps,

when the billionth earthquake shakes our souls?


Or are we slaves to Mighty Black Hole,

Great Lightning Bolt;

destined to sob

before Grim Reaper

who lacking mercy

hears no cries?


Are we nought when faced with


The End

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