Let bone fingers,
gentler than colder scythe,
close my eyes
in
eternal sleep
I would seek
Death’s Handmaiden,
dressed in mourning finery,
And plead a softer touch,
no less final for
all its gentleness
For all her smiling
reassuringly in
my final moment,
I would hear
at least
the faint echo of a
woman’s heart
where
none exists
I would kneel
in abject
Obeisance
to her
gory majesty
And take her hand
in gratitude
for mercy,
though I bleed
No sunset,
just darkness
without stars
I go
and wait for
you
in the drafty caverns,
the void
of her many- shadowed palace,
in a vast and ebon realm,
disguised as
a humble cottage
in the midst
of
woods and meadow.
“…the echo of a woman’s heart where none exists.” What a line and what a thought! Nicely done, my friend.
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