~Trigger WARNING: TALK OF DEATH, PERSONIFICATION OF DEATH,
THEMES OF DYING/DEAD KIDS~
-
The humans,
Selfish beings.
. Always talking about themselves
Hear of my work, and the worrying souls, They shake like a tree during a storm
Shake at me like I asked to take you,
Shake at me as I hold the hands of the Dying elderly,
As I grip the throats of criminals, the murders.
Accomplishing nothing but allowing them to leave this world,
Fair is not my concern for them.
Death is a peace from the eyes that took the freedom they could care less for,
And In death they have it again.
My touch, unfair.
My hands which crudely touch some,
Tap others,
Thrill a few.
And something or other.
To the children who have met me,
Have my sorry, the ghost of my touch will hold you when human hands cannot.
I give you a hug.
No more so,
Hold.
Children, the only ones I hold in my arms,
Some days,
People will suffer your death more then others.
. on those,
"Other days''
A butterfly may be seen,
A flower,
A book,
A something.
They will know.
To get through.
Understand your peace, without seeing the fairness in why you needed to have such.
A different life with be breathed into them, a life that goes.
That resistant me,
That says "Fuck you."
At my very strange twin,
Life.
No one will get over you child,
But they will get through.
This is simply my Job.
My task.
Mother Nature,
Father time.
Their messengers,
The twins, Life and Death to go hand and hand with each other,
Yet so far, They are.
My job is to take you,
Hers is to bring you into being.
Because to live, is to risk me.
The risky brother, to impulsive unpredictable, Cruel sister.
YOU ARE READING
Queries And Vents Of A Poet
PoesíaFor: Raven, who thinks my poems are great. Sib from another crib Dumb best friend. - Every post is sad or gay But not all, are romantic.
