Death Comes Calling
A poem
A poem
Just another memory swallowed by the dawn.
Strands of fond remembrances unwind
an innocence you used to know.
Darkness there, and nothing more,
spreading her pollen, wafting her scent.
Like a cloak, you wear me with great sadness.
Bleak and dark, I steal hope and give anguish,
no bittersweet, no dew drops. . . only loss.
Clowns falsely smiling with painted faces.
Still as bone, white as winter’s snow,
your skin I clench dead in my hand.
Your pain continues unheard,
and the fruit must be shared.
I will open the aged gate
when death calls,
undeniable as dawn and dusk
upon the still horizon.
You will know the comfort
of a place where I belong,
as memory keeps its meaning
until death makes it no more.
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