Creeping Death moves as Father Time.
The poet shall curse her own blind rhyme.

The men go forth to capture the Creeper.
They know of Death, but I know the Reaper.

I've done the journey called peering deeper.
The Source determined, "Yes, we need her."

My angel does not allow me pain and sorrow.
My angel carries me gently towards tomorrow.

Because, I have purpose in this chaotic life,
Whether girl or diva or suspect with knife.

And so, I sing, so do you.
*Challenge your barriers. They'll challenge you, too.