Greeting Death

He looks at me with charcoal eyes

As I take his hand,

But my eyes will not divert from his midnight suit

Void of hopeful stars.

I smell the stench of winter, of sadness, of lost time

As it plagues this sorry room, full of sorry souls.

Everyone looks foul here as their say their final goodbye

To their father, their neighbourly foe, their friend.

I feel the pain of a broken cloud and I feel every drop spilt

From all other misty charcoals

And their battered lashed disdained

From this mutual ordeal of loss.

He was too bold, too bright, too young

His tale was still unsung

Whilst the people he left behind lay broken

In a field of fluorescent darkness

I close my eyes to it, as death enchants another soul.

(Inspired by the Allison Hallett workshop.)

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