And as I kneel on the church's pew,
Right on time, as if on cue,
Her spirit walks the aisle anew,
Pure translucent bone and sinew.
An ethereal whisper, "Come, sweet"
And thus, my life conceded defeat
Those two words marked it complete
I follow her and ask her name
I don't believe her preposterous claim
Yet, still, I'm enchanted by this dame
And only when it turns pitch dark
Do I accept her grave remark:
"Life is not a circle nor arc
I am the end of your lively spark
I am the beginning of your blackness depth
Many people christen me Death."
Should I label her the same?
Is that really her proper name?
I don't know, but I'm losing my breath
To this woman who calls herself Death.
YOU ARE READING
: ̗̀➛ Poetry: A Journey
Poetry↳ ❝ And I realise that no matter where I am, whether in a little room full of thought, or in this endless universe of stars and mountains, it's all in my mind ¡! ❞ ·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ Poetry is an art that can touch the soul the same as music or even a...
