And her poetry, like rain Can soothe while she screams in pain

And every echo has a ring

Every truth, a hallowed sting.

Singing the dust-songs of Death

She grasped to Life

Till her last poetic breath

And when her lips could sing no more

The Grave sealed shut its broken door

Knowing not it’s lock was stuck

The Grave licked its lips

Thinking, “ah this stroke of luck”

To catch her as she whispered sweet

A lovely morsel, a delicate treat

Captive now, within his clutch—But Death always did boast too much

When all had settled—

The dust, the pitch,

God undid the broken hitch

Out she came

Soft, fair, and light

The songs she held,

Warm & bright

The light, touching that thin hem

Of breast-bone & breath

This rarity of she, God’s precious gem

Released from this unruly Death


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s