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DEATH IS HE By
M.D. Ward Silent
nights are golden and the days slide thru glass silver slivers of
light. Ah I can hear the dead whisper they will wait for a while, but
don’t tarry too long. We who stand at the end of time, fall asleep at
the post and forget. Come in the fire and you will be warm. For a
little while. Less noise. Less confusion. The leaves are
falling. Its November again. A year of pain has passed away and
the lucky have no need of a toothbrush no mo no how. Slip along the
slippery glass you speck of sand your turn is nigh your turn is right around
the bend. Death is small and dark. It wears a fine suit and
covers a block of ice. “ He looks so peaceful”. Goddamn right! He
does. As happy as an angel. As innocent as the unborn. Back
home again. Back on the farm. Out of this world. Breathless.
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