May 2018
Cries fill the air of the small town around me, echoing like screeching of bats in a dark cave
The fire crackles off in the distance, it’s flames engulfing the bodies that once walked this town in a joyful manner
The sounds of laughing children now replaced with the screaming of the dead
All I see are the deceased that litter the street, the preachers that say the heavenly prayers to lift them to the paradise above
In this home of mine that keeps me secure from the sickness that plagues the world I see my friend
He wears the face of a bird and a black cloak around his frail body he tells me,
‘Do not be afraid of the roses that have taken their color and veiled it over your skin, for they decorate your pale complexion. Do not fear the darkness around your fingertips, for they have touched only souls of those you’ve tried to help. The rotting of your flesh is only the evil washing away so you may see the Lord when your sickness dies. Do not fear the man in black, his skin white and so thin a slice from a feather could open the flesh and release the crimson wine from under the pale sheet of white. He is here to take you away from this world and into the next, where the sky is blue all day. Sickness does not plague the world and you may run around freely, hear the stories of your ancestors and see your past. For not only does that man with the pale skin wear the color of the darkness but the light wings of Heaven.’
The weeping of my mother when the man tells her of my health can be heard from the thin walls, and as I lay my head down to rest I look up at the crumbling ceiling and see the light I was promised.
Red and orange flicker across my body as I stand and watch, the man with the pale skin and dark clothing standing next to me, holding my hand with his cold yet soothing ones.
Looking at my burning body, the smell of rotting and charcoaled flesh buried deep with the sent of purple Poesies that I once held in my pockets as a child to bring home to mother.
One final tear falls before I am taking away from the sight, I am told no more sadness and no more worry will come my way,
My feet leave the ground and I am carried to the home I was promised to
I am home and away from the sickness that had taken my last breath
I am home where I walk among the dead and away from living
The fire crackles off in the distance, it’s flames engulfing the bodies that once walked this town in a joyful manner
The sounds of laughing children now replaced with the screaming of the dead
All I see are the deceased that litter the street, the preachers that say the heavenly prayers to lift them to the paradise above
In this home of mine that keeps me secure from the sickness that plagues the world I see my friend
He wears the face of a bird and a black cloak around his frail body he tells me,
‘Do not be afraid of the roses that have taken their color and veiled it over your skin, for they decorate your pale complexion. Do not fear the darkness around your fingertips, for they have touched only souls of those you’ve tried to help. The rotting of your flesh is only the evil washing away so you may see the Lord when your sickness dies. Do not fear the man in black, his skin white and so thin a slice from a feather could open the flesh and release the crimson wine from under the pale sheet of white. He is here to take you away from this world and into the next, where the sky is blue all day. Sickness does not plague the world and you may run around freely, hear the stories of your ancestors and see your past. For not only does that man with the pale skin wear the color of the darkness but the light wings of Heaven.’
The weeping of my mother when the man tells her of my health can be heard from the thin walls, and as I lay my head down to rest I look up at the crumbling ceiling and see the light I was promised.
Red and orange flicker across my body as I stand and watch, the man with the pale skin and dark clothing standing next to me, holding my hand with his cold yet soothing ones.
Looking at my burning body, the smell of rotting and charcoaled flesh buried deep with the sent of purple Poesies that I once held in my pockets as a child to bring home to mother.
One final tear falls before I am taking away from the sight, I am told no more sadness and no more worry will come my way,
My feet leave the ground and I am carried to the home I was promised to
I am home and away from the sickness that had taken my last breath
I am home where I walk among the dead and away from living
