Written in Death's point of view.

"I listen to you sing every night," whispered Death, as it stroked her hair in the silence of dawn.



From The Mouth of Death

You were the open anecdote of the eastern sky
Playing games with the children of the moon
But, as I remove these stars from your eyes
I can no longer hear your sweet little tune

Beneath the hands of mother earth you now cry
Face smothered in the palms of a new love
Your precious smile stolen by a wavering sigh
You sit wondering if the children remain above

But I know the answer to your lingering thoughts
And I know the future of the children you adore
If only you had heard the oncoming shots
In time to drop down to the trembling floor




Poetry by Kerra Dolarhyde
Read 551 times
Written on 2006-06-08 at 05:59

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email
dott Print text