Death is not a Word

a_dark_goth

 

Death is not a word. To form this word
is corruption’s self, the splitting of its life;
the corrosive force of acid slipping over flesh,
the slow scraping sound of crystal over lips.

Do not kiss that corpse. Graze her cheeks instead.
Her eyes are open now. She sees what you do not.
The tumbling world unfolds below the black moon,
and the white sun breaks fire across the deadly pool:

cross the dead space that lives in its pale light,
the breath of hot air that cries among the Wight’s;
the sky turns black as birds ignite in night’s abyss,
and the dust within your hand melts in darkness.

Walk into the sea or desert now, hold the emptiness
thickening in its cage of doubt that tightens now;
take the knot and twist it till time’s  frail heart breaks,
and pull it down again upon your severed head.

– Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.

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