Death....
Death walks
on two feet
Saunters up
to you and me
Death,
Death comes
In night and day
In sun and rain
In joy and pain
Death comes for us on our day
In our way

Death....
Whisks you away
Takes you away from the pain
Death....
Whisks you away
Whispers are all that remain

Death comes in every shape
Death comes in any form
Silent as a shadow
And violent as a storm

Death...
Death crawls
on all fours
Has no mercy
for kings or ******
Death,
Death comes
For rich and poor
For saintly and sinful
Despised and adored
Death comes to all things in time
Just wait in line

Death....
Whisks you away
Takes you away from the pain
Death....
Whisks you away
Whispers are all that remain

Death comes in every shape
Death comes in any form
Silent as a shadow
And violent as a storm

Death...
Slithers
Into our hearts
And through our veins
Into our art
Death lives
Inside our souls
In all of life
It waits and grows
Death comes each and every day
Hides until it's time to play
again....

Dear forest leaves ,                                             Do you tell your trees
your "I love you's" before
you drop from the branch ?
Do you tell them "I'll miss
you" before you fall silently
to the ground. Do you ever
look back before touching
gentle earth's damp soil.
Do you make love to the tree
before you wonder off wild
and free dancing on the forest
floor as the winds move you
from the right to the left ?
Do you forest leaves ? If yes ,
then tell me your story
passionately* ~

Born screaming small into this world-
Living I am.
Occupational therapy twixt birth and death-
What was I before?
What will I be next?
What am I now?
Cruel answer carried in the jesting mind
of a careless God
I will not bend and grovel
When I die. If He says my sins are myriad
I will ask why He made me so imperfect
And he will say 'My chisels were blunt'
I will say 'Then why did you make so
many of me'.

They made her a quaint painting,
well mannered,
she never spoke out of turn.
She granted herself a wish,
she only wanted to be picturesque
so
waning to the wayside of  mannerisms
she gave herself 'wiggle room'
she was a sight
not worth seeing.
Cracked porcelain faces,
she saw herself in them.
It took time to find her way to shore
but when she did
and stood on her own two feet,
she was more vivid and brilliant
than any quaint little painting.

1764

The saddest noise, the sweetest noise,
  The maddest noise that grows,—
The birds, they make it in the spring,
  At night’s delicious close.

Between the March and April line—
  That magical frontier
Beyond which summer hesitates,
  Almost too heavenly near.

It makes us think of all the dead
  That sauntered with us here,
By separation’s sorcery
  Made cruelly more dear.

It makes us think of what we had,
  And what we now deplore.
We almost wish those siren throats
  Would go and sing no more.

An ear can break a human heart
  As quickly as a spear,
We wish the ear had not a heart
  So dangerously near.

There’s a door that leads into the hallway
Of the house that lives under the trees
Whose trunks are beleaguered with knobbles
Like a twisted collection of knees
The handle looks faintly organic
Any moment it might come alive
The paint is like vertical shadows
And the number is seventy-five

The foot of the stairs is before you
And the door sidles shut to your rear
The carpet is damp and disfigured
And the walls are uncomfortably near
The windows are coated with algae
So the light is all mottled and rank
The varnish and the paper are peeling
And curtains hang mouldy and lank

There’s a hole in the wall with an angle
And a view of the kitchen within
There’s a nest in the bowl on the table
There are rats living out of the bin
Disjointed lugubrious echoes
Of a whisper without any voice
The spoons haven't stirred in a decade
So the cups haven't had any choice

It’s then you should really be leaving
But you've taken your time and the bait
For a sound of a footstep behind you
And a voice saying simply "too late"
There’s a breath on the bone of your collar
It’s as cold as a final decree
There’s death to be found in that kitchen
And a death that came looking for me