Oh death you are a poem,
It is the promise of this poem,
She will be mine.
An enigma, your language of expression,
I understand not,
And yet I do not fear
I know i must, and still,
that curiosity consumes me.
there must be another place
sunrise to sunset, and again
from the light, to the banks of darkness
my body must be deserted,
another form donned,
when my body shall fall,
and my soul begins to breathe
death triumphant
it is the promise of the poem
she will be mine.
is death a begining, end, or continuation??
or is it just another illusion,?