The Face of Death

In the black, black sky that hangs over me
Rests the ugly face whose motives pause
The pulsing blood of hearts contained in flesh.
His ghastly eye intrudes upon the mind
While tears as dark as blood besmear his sharp
And poignant smirk. Again he apprehends
My conscience, quickly paling in his deep,
Enchanting stare, piercing through my skin.
A thousand crystal freckles fleck his face
With light, lying of the things within.
His black robe is cast from strong shoulders,
Looming like distant foreboding mountains,
To blanket naive faces with woes of fate
And fear. He swiftly shreds the silent night
And fills it with the howls of loneliness
Like grey wolves on the edge of shadowy forests.
In an instant, unsuspecting minds are taken
Through years of wasted life and useless fears
To memories as fleeting as the wind.
A spear of light, that shreds the leafy canvas,
Strikes the glowing water, singing softly,
While children play and skip flattened stones
Off pools flattened by the morning fog.
The ebb and swell of music can be heard
Rising through the reeds above the marsh
While dragonflies and damselflies exchange
A symphony of smoothly whispered words.
The light of morning nuzzles weary eyes
And chases off the shadows of despair.
Its golden fingers stroke their tired faces,
Rubbing off the stains of yesterday
And searing new life into jaded hearts.
The crusty blood smears drying on their cheeks
Are simply splotches from the masterpiece
Of artist's hands, in genius, streaked with love.
That brazen eye, lurking in the dark,
Slowly sinks out of timid mortal view
As morning greets its travelers with peace
And wipes dangling tears from their aching eyes.

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