Monday, 25 August 2014

Death


The mottled moon throws an eerie glow on the trees,
Where an owl hoots,once...twice,
The wind howls as if possessed,
Somebody in the distance wails like a banshee.




Groping in the dark
He knocks over the standing candelabra,
The light goes out immediately,
Pitch-black emptiness.

Life,
Snuffed out just like that.
Morning dew...here now, then gone.
Death,
Dark.  Cruel. 


The weeping willows...sigh,
Bowing down,
Burdened by the grief,
To the point of breaking.

Life,
Snatched away just like that,
Shadows...here now, then gone.
Death,
Dark. Cold.

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