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The Final Kill
November 26, 2013
Wearied and wrinkled,
Death sighed and slumped.
"One is not so lively now," said she.
"Perhaps 'tis time, 'tis my time, too,
to lay my cheek down and sleep."
A brutal life lived she,
giving nought but final relief,
taking even the greenest leaf.
But how to go now, she couldn't say.
She supposed the best was the traditional way.
With heavy hands she wrapped and twisted,
'til a necklace she'd made and carefully lifted.
With her choker of rope, laid high in a tree,
she quietly left, and set herself free.
Now those that remain know not what's to be;
there is no Death, just immortality.
© Rebecca B., Santa Clara, CA
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This article has 2 comments.
Finally! Someone who actually puts as much thought into reading my poetry as I do in writing it. Thanks...I think i tend to write the way an english teacher would, with all sorts of metaphors and hidden meanings that I can only hope people pick up on. I wish you had something posted that I could read, because I suspect I'd very much appreciate your work as well. You've only been on TI for a week though, so I hope you've at least submitted something? :)
I like how you took the time to meditate upon cognitive challenges Death must face. How it must feel dealing with so much death for so long. How being Death lead to her self-demise.I also like how you made Death female. Many display Death as male, but I think it makes more sense this way. A woman is what brought us into the world,why wouldn't it be a woman to bring us out? Metaphorically speaking, of course.
