Friday, October 16, 2015

Oh, Death

A dangerous thing—
Courting one’s death.

The sweet whisper—of Wintergirls;
Angels—Tempting us—to Fly—
Soar to Sirenum Scopuli.

“Renounce the Spirit of Death”—
What I chose not to do.
That Spirit remains—
Enchanting—what might have been.

Along came a Singer;
Along came a Weaver;
And then—came you—

Another who had stood
Out on the Edge—Wait for me—
If I take—one more step—

Welcome your death—
He’s always waiting—nearby. 

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