They call me "Stretch",
it makes me laugh,
for I am known
as Death's Giraffe.
I tie and check
my rope each day,
so it won't snap
when death jigs play.
It matters not what sex you are,
what class,
what race,
what guiding star.
You'll dance
your final dance real soon,
beneath the fickle crescent moon.
I feel no bitterness towards man,
no disappointment in God's plan.
I am my work,
that's who I am.
I'm Deaths Giraffe,
the Hanging Man.
YOU ARE READING
Land of The Dead, the poetry of oblivion
PoetryThe end? The beginning? The great drama, the great conflict. It is the culmination of our lives, it is the destination we have journeyed towards since birth, and we have no idea what it is. Disaster, death, celebration. What drives us? what defines...
