My Life In Your Death

3 A.M. poetry can be both wonderful and strange. Moods sway and dance in time to your need to sleep and ideas no normally found find their way to you.

Ah, the beautiful dance of life and death

Teetering forever on the brink as balance is lost

Gained through the prowess of one hand or another

This time it is mine that sways the pendulum

Back and forth, back and forth I wait and I watch

As the blade swings slowly and inexorably downward

The sweat stands out in a fine sheen on your face

Your voice is hoarse from screaming; begging me for mercy

For compassion, for my unholy and ungodly death

But alas all that you ask for I am lacking in

I could not yield even if I wished; the wheels have been set in motion

And who am I to stop them now? Who am I to hinder what fate has wrought?

To see your eyes widen as the first red line appears is a sight

No eyes have ever opened as wide as your own

I fear your skull should lose them were you to turn your head

Most thankfully you are restrained in a most inescapable way

So such a worry is silly and unfounded

Every passing second is a moment to be savored

First flecks, then drops, then streams of blood gore fill the air

And see the beauty your dying life brings?

The way it splashes upon the ground would fill Pollock with envy

Finally your breathing turns shallow and rapid

Music filling the air in this happy void

I lean close to catch your death rattle and you do not disappoint 

Even now you shall not escape me, for I have come prepared

To keep you as a cherished memory; so I bottle your last breath

A fitting tribute for your life and death 

Author's Note

Please, do not think me disturbed. 3 A.M. poetry is always, at best, random; at worst it is meaningless.

Reviews

[KittyPurrs]

The only thing meaningless is nothing or Pollock's present envy
Those able to regret are still alive and hope springs forth eternal.