death

So often we fear death,
when yet, there are those
days where life has drawn
blinds and closed curtains,

to render dark the minutes
imprison cold, chilled, endless
hours, and then, suddenly, the
ear listens more carefully for

the knock of the reaper, wishing
it would come sooner and bring
an end to torment; halting the cruel
echo of grief, silencing the tapping
fingers of memory; cutting loose

at last, the mortality which feels to
such depth of being, imprisoned
in flesh and weeping blood; but it
does not happen like that….

Advertisements

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s