On wings of velvet
Death graced the skies above
She liked the wind caressing her beak
right before she had to reap
It soothed the ice in her veins
that had grown there of its own accord
She found that one cannot help but nurture
a heart increasingly calcified
when one is the ancient balance
keeping life and death in reigns
One cannot help but harden the soul
when they're the only one
for whom the death bell never tolls.
YOU ARE READING
Old Words
PoetryA collection (and selection) of my old poetry. If you want to read some of my more recent work, check out The Magic Of Poetry, An Abundance Of Haiku or Bright.
