I'm not as you imagine me.
The death that you see,
Is not me. But the fear of me.
The cloak that trails behind that sunken form
With a dark hood that frames a skeletal face -
Does not belong to me. I never wore it.
The scythe that sweeps the sky, dripping with blood
Is not mine either. I never bore it.
No. Death is a poet.
You will meet me as such
And when I release your soul
Into that blissful void
I hope you will remember me
As nothing more than a pleasant dream
For is that not what death is?
The final, blissful dream.
Death is a poet, think of me as such.
YOU ARE READING
Anywhere.
PoesieI've written a lot of poetry, and I guess people should here it. Some are about me and my experiences but are mostly just poems.
