Let the boy try along this bayonet-blade
How cold steel is, and keen with hunger of blood;
Blue with all malice, like a madman's flash;
And thinly drawn with famishing for flesh.

Lend him to stroke these blind, blunt bullet-leads
Which long to nuzzle in the hearts of lads.
Or give him cartridges of fine zinc teeth,
Sharp with the sharpness of grief and death.

For his teeth seem for laughing round an apple.
There lurk no claws behind his fingers supple;
And God will grow no talons at his heels,
Nor antlers through the thickness of his curls.

The death of someone close to us leave us shocked with grief. We cannot understand how one minute this person was here and the next they are gone. The truth is that those we love are never truly gone. The body may have run its course, but the soul lives forever. Human beings have been cognizant of eternal life since the beginning of time. Every culture has its own traditions about death and reincarnation. The anxiety commonly felt about death in our culture is a result of a scientific schema which says that "if I don't see it, it's not there

i have 100 kinds of pain
100 reliefs
the wind has stopped flowind
the flowers have stopped blooming
100 roads, but not the path that goes at your doorstep
dont give me more pain im begging you
im starting flow like water
let the time stop
let me see you like this, its like the first time
i know its bad but i love it wait

i said to the i have seen such a face
even u will get shy when  u see her yourself  
when the moon saw her what he did was eclipse

i said to the stars, her smiles more prettier than yours
& after that that star shower was born

with colour pencils
drew a flower
shaken by the wind
after eighty hours
never again
will i leave her

Tick, tick, tick, echoed the miner’s pick
Unleashing the captive from the depths below
The guardian of the treasure’s soul
Deep within the Long Range Mine
Two spirits struggled inside one mind
Greed’s effervescence filled the cave
Twice absorbed into its slave

Lick, lick, lick, flame on tin candlestick
‘Ole Jim Crow who knew no match
Blindsided by foe, at Owen’s; dispatched
Thirty five years from that foul fate
It Turned Albrother inside its gate

Tick, tick, tick, as the clock does chime
Three and fifty from former date
Enraptured hell’s picolinate
Uninhibited behind closed walls
They could only hear one outside fall

Click, click, click, taps its toes in time
And to this day they say it’s seen
Roaming the hills and hollow between
Lantern aglow and with its pick
Looking for soul or mind to inflict

Forget it not to latch ones hatch
Keep head attached, avoid being snatched

Heavenly cursed and heavily sinned I
No more i like to add them, so, I want to die
And I want to become a holy ghost
Whom the people would like the most