He comes, he goes;
He takes what is the most,
Adored by us --- Life.
How does he feel,
How does he hide,
All the sorrows;
Seen by his eyes?
No one knows, except
The Angel Of Death.
Does he take you by the hand,
Or does he force you up the stairs?
Does he give you sympathy,
Or does he give the Penance Stare?
No one knows, except
The Angel Of Death.
Is he black, or is he white?
Is he bad, or is he the light?
Does he have a face,
Or is he a monster?
Is he loved,
Or is he an outcast?
No one knows, except
The Angel Of Death.
Then he shall come,
Swooping down, with his Morningstar wings,
And take my soul,
To the pleasures of paradise,
Or to the Tartarus depths,
Then shall I serve in heaven,
Or rule in Hell?
No one knows,
No one sees,
No one feels,
No one hears the cries of the souls,
Except,
The Angel Of Death
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Death - The Beginning
PoesíaA collection of 8 self-composed poems reflecting the ideas of the poet regarding death and the different ideologies relating to it. It shows the beauty of death and tells that death is not the end, but merely, the beginning...
