Oh beautiful death.. How I yearn to feel the numbing cold that gathers at your fingertips, brushing my feverish skin. Quieting the painful thoughts that eat at my mind.
Oh beautiful death.. I will remove the salt from my doors so that you may enter freely and grant my most honest request. I want to die.
Oh beautiful death.. I am so tired. I willingly open my heart to you. May your darkness grow within me so that I can choke out all hope.
Oh beautiful death.. Bring me to my knees in prayer for your swift coming. Hear my cries of salvation from the slavery of a lifetime of feeling the hurt that surrounds me.
Oh beautiful death.. Snuff the fire from my eyes and fill them with your blank stare. Take away my mobility for the comfort of being froze within your icy embrace.
Oh beautiful death.. Wash over me and still my already labored breath. Speed through my veins and overcome all sources of this cursed life. Replace my containment with your blessed void.
A powerful poem. Remind me of the old story of old. People in mourning would wish for death over life. Nice flow of thoughts in the poem. I believe if you don't like the place you are at. Move and find a place you are content. Death is a death-end street. Thank you for a outstanding poem.
Coyote
I would heartily agree with this were it not for several occasions in my life in which I met Death, and on those occasions I decided I wanted to live. I still remember him quite clearly; Death's handshake is a little too cold for me, even now.
Wow, you are back with a bang, I must say. I love the exploration of death and its beauty, its morbidness, its peace, its release and escape.
Just beautiful. It really spoke to me.
Wonderful just wonderful the words just spoke and the flow was like whoa. The repitiion of "Oh beautiful death..." and all it can do and the picture of course attracted me this way as well as the title because the pic is like doctor who's weeping angel as they are the become of death to which, your poem embraces. So even though it has a hint of sorrow in it I can still say brava and bravo piece like no other in describing death in more then what it is rather then what it isn't.
this reminds me of my mum, and the way she used to pray. she suffered a lot, just wanted to be out of it, not even sure if she ever cared if it would be to heaven or not...just like you say...a blessed void. thanks.
"My trepidation of things past is not a song with a beginning, middle and end. But an endless symphony playing infinite variations on the same theme. One day of sadness fades into another and the .. more..