Death.

A Poem by Mirab Irfan

A lady who wanted a perfect Death.

So,I let my self be a part of it,the Darkness,
So that all my sorrows just stir into the Velvety Blackness..
Whenever,with an effort I moved my lips to call out for happiness,the only answer was the screaming silence..
Every pulse of mine hurt with each tick of the clock,
Tick.. Tock.. Tick.. Tock..
Yes,I was the victim of it's evil captivity,'Pain',
To suspire,had become difficult,
It was like I was clinging onto every breath of mine,
Coldness hung in the air,
And in the moment nothing burned so bad as Cold,
The sense of smell desired his fragnance,
And the sense of sight desired the angel,
And it was all so bitter for my tastebuds,
And I knew soon I would turn into deadwood,
But I had had this strong feeling of wanting to die in his arms,
What a beautiful Death it would've been..?

© 2015 Mirab Irfan

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Featured Review

Tom McRoberts

A lot of really interesting choices here, Mirab! I particularly liked the juxtaposition inherent in cold burning, if both extremes of temperature are expressed one must assume there's very little that can be done to treat either pain. Another stand-out for me was how you spelled out the ticking of the clock, you've made time unbearable, heavy. Keep it up!