Aug 03

Death is a Poet

Death is a poet,
as her existence revolves
around her choices.
Death is a poet,
for she sees all sides to a story and
is able to choose her side instantly.
Death is a poet,
as her heart is a battered
feather encased in a glass jar.
Death is a poet,
for she is not defined by her
looks and color but by her words.
Death is a poet,
her verses drawing more then
a few to the depths of her heart.
Death is a poet,
her rhymes becoming written
prophecies on her bedroom wall.
Death is a poet,
her stanzas evolving into voices
yelling back and forth in her head.
Death is a poet,
for her home is a battlefield, waiting
to jump out and take her away.
Death is a poet,
dangerously fair, for all will one day
be beheld in her eyes as human.
Death is a poet,
as her smile is the shadow
of fire, dark and flickering.
Death is a poet,
bringer of dreamy endings, endless
sleeping and sleeping dreams.
Death is a poet,
she holds the antidote to hate,
and it is empathy.
Death is a poet,
hope be her child, lover of all.
Death is a poet,
for her, love is an old song,
played upon a broken record.
Death is a poet,
eventually gathering us all and then
finally in balance with humanity,
with a final goodbye and a forever hello
we vanish into the subtext of the poet's voice.

Death is a Poet...
but Poetry is not Dead.