Death with claws of steel
Clasp me, pare me as an orange peel
of human flesh which dares not defend
Its fibres of being from your cunning bend
of head, towards my cotton pillow you peer
With your ice blue eyes neon atop a haunted pier

Your delight is in your disorder
A nonchalant shift of shoulder and then
You callous with your hardened nails
push me far into the cave, a woman wails
Far from murder, just and in order

This Death on my sill I see
perched as a raven still and black
cawing as a witch with a cloak and a sack
coming for me, sooner for thee, go free!

Light engulfs the room, a cat shrieks
Scents of incense and burnt skin reeks
I, the meek, the living with my heart a flutter
Not a word I say, not a syllable uttered

Human hearts break as do their bones
Yet still we cannot evade the malice
our dues to Hell we owe, confessions of vice
through night, Death's sword anxiously moans

Shutters close, daybreak escapes
soul empty, a pocket of confused silence
a verdure of fresh grapes squeezes shapes
from vivacity, from fields of bright defiance

Shadows consume what is left
of my warm throbbing form
wriggling against its doom like a worm
Nothing is left, nothing to do, I wept
And then I. Saw.

...


Seven wonders elapse too soon
screams the hollow ghostly moon
sitting supine in Her velvet chair
spying carnage through her starry hair