Death dictates

It blows its frosty breath
and holds its silver sceptre
the knob glows with its latest kill.

(Soft departure is only soft to the onlookers.)

Death dictates
its purple toes twitch
in line with frozen blood.

(Cold storage is cold to everyone.)

It uses full stops as its only punctuation
and knows no hyphens
definitely no semi-colons.

(It’s probably selfish of me to cry when she’s out of pain at least.)

The black guest was treated
with pained sighs and resigned murmurs
which no-one should write about.

(For we don’t know how to feel; grateful for her release from pain, or plain morose at losing a beloved.)

Is it selfish, tell me death,
to grieve a loss significant
or should we celebrate?

(I wonder if death knows bereavement.)

The angel of death was sad about his duties
and God told him He would create excuses
for people to blame, instead of the angel.

(I am not blaming either the angel or the excuse. I am merely mourning.)

Pray for my nano, everyone.

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9 thoughts on “Death dictates

  1. Sorry to hear of your loss Moniba.

    Grief truly sucks. Just don’t do what I did and equate letting go of grief with turning my back on bereaved loved ones. It’s a recipe for years of crippling despair.

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