You are beautiful, I cannot lie.
A face like frost on autumn’s breath,
A hand that stills the raging tide,
A voice that hums in halls of death.
You drape the world in quiet silk,
Silver-threaded, soft, serene.
A kiss as cold as mother’s milk,
A love unseen, yet evergreen.
I see you, Death, I know your grace,
The way you whisper, call, and wait.
But damn this heart, this wretched race,
That beats despite its knowing fate.
The sky still burns in crimson hues,
The earth still hums, the rivers run.
And I, though worn, though bruised and used,
Still beg for one more touch of sun.
But what is want to time’s decree?
What is fight to rot and rust?
Your hands will fold the soul from me,
And I will crumble, as all must.