Written in eighth grade with a friend who I have now lost touch with, but I still have this somewhat melodramatic poem here to keep me company.
Breath,
if you dare.
Your heart pounds
with the beat
of a thousand drums.
Slightly, you start
to shake in fear.
Your time,
it is at hand.
For I am the
Angel of Death
The source of
all dying and decay.
My cloak is as black
as an eclipse of the sun.
I carry with me
a scythe of shining silver,
only slightly stained with blood.
I cut away the souls of many...
the good, the evil...
heroes and their enemies,
all fall victim to me.
Slowly I suck the life
from your dying body.
You desperately try to
hang on
but your efforts,
they prove futile.
You draw in your final breath.
Even that
I suck out of you.
For a moment,
I almost pity you.
After all, you were one of the few fighters,
the few who try and resist Death.
But I always win in the end.
My eyes harden to you,
as well as my non-existant heart.
You are only another victim.
Copyright Erin Mueller and Cecilia Nguyen, 2002.
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