Flecks in the Shadows

Death began as a dust mote in his eye,

an ever wandering sweetness in his sigh,

a cold air made flesh ethereal,

a shadow speck of truth and light and darkness

of hate and of silence.

Death began as a dust mote

an unassuming annoyance

ever remembered

and reprised

Reviews

[patricia]

great poem, love the...'dust mote in his eye'. thanks.