Anthology of dreams (drownedinwords) wrote, @ 2004-10-31 22:44:00

Imagine Death

Imagine death.
What do you see behind the scythe?
In the darkness of the cowl, what do you find?

My grandma saw relief
in the shadow
when she lay breathless
on her faded sofa.
She said his eyes were wrinkled,
tired mirrors,
with just a hint of the ocean
in the corners.

A friend of mine
not three decades going
was greeted in the rain
by a lonely walker.
He said the voice which
bounced between the drops
was like the sea.
A sense of
things unseen. Of beauties lost.

To those who fight,
Death, perhaps, is blind.

Or perhaps, at last,
He'll bow
As light swings through
A closing door
And his hungry eyes shine with
Another stolen glance
Of sky.