Poems

If Death has a face

If death has face,
it must be lovely.

I can see it now,
her face, her eyes,
her cheeks, her smile.

It has two voids for eyes,
they're like a mirror,
and seem broken and wise.

The orbs are shrouded
by a black veil,
like a woeful night sky.

There are no stars,
for cruel life has
stolen her of them.

She has sunken cheeks,
and why not?
They've taken all our sorrows in.

She sings me a lullaby
in her raspy, old voice,
quivering from the pain of old souls.

I can see her now.
She's lovely.