Death is.
Death is not aware of your presence;
You exist.
Death hears your voice;
You burble and burp,
in a worn wicker basket.
Death is on his way;
You crawl around,
bumping doors and
laughingly gurgle at clowns.
Death is outside;
You speak your first words,
and totter on uncertain feet,
inconspicuous trainers,
hugging them tightly.
Death is knocking,
You not knowing what a knock is,
play in a corner of your plastic house,
applying your studious craft,
cooking plastic soup in a plastic cup,
shivering at the sudden draft.
Death comes in,
You feel his presence now,
ripples reach out to your conscious,
but imagination throws up its wall,
not giving it a chance,
stopping realisation,
softening your mind.
Death stands over you,
You know now who he is,
his dark mysterious ways,
how the subtle knife he wields,
is a danger everyday,
how his deep and booming voice,
took your best friend away,
how he’ll always be there watching.
Don’t slip up.
lianne, 3 months ago
One needs to learn, I’m sure, an awareness of one’s own mortality – that death is inevitable certainly. You’ve expressed this extremely well, beast – there is a nice build up to your final stanza, a nice rhythm to this that makes it flow really nicely. Thought provoking!
beast in reply to lianne’s comment, 3 months ago
thanks for reading and thinking lianne, i really appreaciate your thoughts
Ushna Sardar, 3 months ago
written so well beast! great job
beast in reply to Ushna Sardar’s comment, 3 months ago
thankyou ushna
AmyX, 3 months ago
Great work
amyx
beast in reply to AmyX’s comment, 3 months ago
thanks for reading amy
butchart, 3 months ago
the trick is being aware of death but not fearing it.. face it and smile…........b
beast in reply to butchart’s comment, 3 months ago
v true butch, thanks for your comment