PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Speaking of death
soaring on the back of an eagle
the crisp blue air whipping at my face
only to accelerate
see the ground meet my desolate dorm
like the wilting of a scarlet rose
black petals kissing the frozen earth
look down on my physical self
my ethereal being floating above,
wide eyes, red-rimmed-brimming with uncried tears,
i tilt my silver head to the side, the luminessence spilling over my shoulders to cover her face,
i sob escapes from my mouth,
it sounds like bells, like the Angel of Sadness,
strumming her slender, delicate fingers over her harp,
with streams of sadness sliding silently down her porcelain cheeks,
with all of life passing by,
it is the death on the back of a butterfly