Death's Kiss

Death

is the shadow of winter—

a soft, lingering ache,

COLD and BLUE,

melding with the hushed silence of white.

*

I wear DEATH,

if you must understand,

my chilled fingers tracing its curve

until it chills further

and murmurs my NAME

to the wilting flower.

*

Yet, I am bound to LIFE—

this land,

this vessel,

this pulse,

this glowing scar that BEATS with existence.

*

Death,

each night,

takes root inside ME.

Each morning,

its spectral KISS lingers,

brushing my LIPS.

*

In its unyielding grasp,

I feel the eternal—

a transformation,

a yielding to the creator,

as my mortal flesh SLIPS away.

*

Life clings tightly still,

throwing itself against my companion,

death,

for countless YEARS.

*

And I,

forever suspended,

find myself trapped

in their quiet struggle