The threat of death is abated
Its tentacles less frightening
Your murder is passive
And your hate tranquil
Beneath wounds of flowers and silk
You cry a cry of neediness
The sun doesn't burn
The moon doesn't glow
Your sickness is a lie
And your bones are made of clay
Death is a bird singing
Life a black bird cackling
Loneliness is light
Being together;
Unending darkness
04-10-2014
