By all means, judge as harshly as you want. An old poem from a very, very long time ago...
----
Death is like a lover,
Stealing and keeping your breath.
How it always seems to hover.
Standing by your shoulder is death.
Death comes with captivating eyes,
With a voice to soothe your fears.
Death comes with bittersweet lies,
Wiping away your tears.
He, or she, the form matters not.
It comes to reap your soul.
For a few, death is the release that was sought.
For others they hate it in whole.
What is death? Friend or foe?
A helper, harmer, or simple being?
What death looks like is something the living don’t know.
Is the light in the tunnel death that I’m seeing?
Death has taken a very strange form.
The form of someone I can trust.
He’s telling me now that all will mourn.
And the blade that I used will rust.
I realize now that he can be trusted,
Unlike people like you.
But with my love you all will be dusted,
The last kind thing I can do.
----
An old poem, nowhere near my favorite work, but that's what I have for now. Still looking for some stuff I wrote back in the day. =/
Subject: Gypsy's Works 
Tue 18 Aug 2009, 3:50 pm
