Some think that death
Is this fierce cruel thing
With weapons on its back
And blood on its hands
Some say that death grins
With a sack full of souls
That its hiding in the shadows of the world
Waiting for who will fall next.
But they’re wrong.
Death is a soft gentle thing
Full of soft reassurances and kind words
Death lets you hear the laughter in the next room
As it lays you to bed
And the blood on its knuckles aren’t from violence
Or a sick sadism
The blood is from wiping away cuts
And staunching bleeds
And death knows that you can’t fit a soul in a sack
Souls belong in the earth
Encased in winding vines
And wrapped in cotton.
And death is the first to put a flower on your grave
To sweep your hair back and tuck you in for the last time.
As you wait for the angel to come and ask you
Its damning questions.
