Hope and Death


HOPE IS DEATH'S MISTRESS
COVERED AS HE IS
IN GREY LIFELESS ROBES
HIS FACE HIDDEN
HIS HANDS COLD
HOPE COMES TO HIM
TO HIS BECKON
TO HIS CALL
HER FACE AGLOW
HER HAIR SMELLS OF MORNING JASMINE
HER HANDS SOFTEN WITH THE WEAVE OF GENTLE SILK
HOPE COMES TO HOLD HIM
TO LAY HIS HEAD ACROSS HER SHOULDER
TO SPEAK TO HIM IN LYRICAL WORDS
IN THE POETRY ONLY DEATH CAN KNOW
HOPE IS DEATH'S MISTRESS
THEY BOTH KNOW.


--PAUL KRAUSZLAW

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