The Painting of Death

About accepting death as it will eventually come. Did the picture art as well.

O, Death
His blood is spread across the walls.
Harsh brush strokes of tar.
Bubbles of paint that stay on the top
O, Death
Fear his chime as his features come to life.
Better paint faster says the voice in your head.
Throwing a bucket of paint at the man who comes.
But oh no, the black paint creaks through the cracks.
His lips do but cross across your wall.
O death!
He comes closer.
Mark him I say.
His bubbly tar falling on your floor.
His white pale eyes gazing back at you.
For he is death.
As he stands, knife in hand.
You drop your brush, and take his hand .
For now it is your end.

Reviews

[barleygirl]

I like your imagery . . . I like the way this feels like a tug-of-war between a person & death . . . but then the person eventually gives in at the end, a peaceful passing. I honestly don't know why people fear death so much. Life can be just as torturous, if not more so! Your dark descriptions of death do not feel dreary or bleak . . . more like a celebration of the darkness. That's an unusual combination I prefer to the totally gory bleak stuff sometimes written about death.

I'm looking forward to seeing you post more . . . (((HUGS)))

[KnightOfAnarchy]

Thank you for the review.
I tried to mix things up and I totally agree with you.
Death is much more easier then living is.
Life is a struggle but I guess it's remarkable too.
(( HUGS))