Sunday, September 7, 2014


The Angel of Death
Brings the harvest
Of the field of life
But it brings
Plagues of woe
Upon sorrow's memory
Shameful misery
She left me
Without warning
Destroying me
Cutting without a knife
She was lost
Upon a sea of dementia
Wasting her precious moments
Crushing her history
Collective humanity
An arcane mystery
Now just simple flesh
Without context
And I miss who she was
But not who she became
Did the pointed finger
Of the Angel of Death
Somehow redeem?