December 23, 2010

And Death, he is a beautiful bastard,
A Home-coming Angel and a Devil
with snatching claws. Master of kings
and countrymen and not a soul
can stand against him. With his
sword he deals in truth alone, and
his terrible visage is as a nightmare
and a burden and a final flash of
freedom so that the young will flee
and the suffering will beg for him to come.
He wanders every street and field,
his blade in hand, and while I haven’t
been around the last time I saw him
he was looking pretty down on his luck
with his black robe all in tatters so
I guess his gig doesn’t pay so well and
maybe he should try to get one of those
cushy Government jobs instead.

3 Responses to “Death.”

  1. Roger Mugs Says:

    this is fantastic.
    we need to personify many more “things that happen to man” like Farts.
    thats it… i’m writing a poem about a personified fart.

  2. Roger Mugs Says:

    p.s. i’m the biggest fan of the quality of his clothing and it being related to his employment difficulties.

  3. saxsquatch Says:

    Well shit. Thanks Roger.

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