His Name Is Death
Vivid dreams, dreams frightening, in bright technicolor,
Recurring over and over, day and night, unfolding;
Deeply, I plunge into the oblivion of an empty black void.
And I am free falling, tumbling, plummeting down.
Again and again, I do the same things within this dream,
And I am the girl with long raven hair flowing down;
There is a man who is beckoning for me to come with him,
He stands with arms outstretched, whispering my name.
I have seen this man who comes for me, his face so sad,
My mind is swirling, twirling and I am screaming, go away;
But, he takes my hand and we walk into the dark unknown,
Through tangled vines and bare branches like claws.
I fear him so much because I know his name, it is Death,
Why does he come in dreams, why does he call me;
And each time I fear my weary eyes to close and dream,
For I know that Death will be whispering my name.
The first time I saw him, he was weeping,
as he took my dead sister's soul away. . .
______________________________
June 5, 2013
Poetry/Verse/His Name Is Death
Copyright Protected, ID 06-483-551-05
All Rights Reserved, 2013, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Poems to Keep You Awake,
sponsor, Roy Jerben, Judged 06/10/2013
Third Place
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2013
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