Death and the Poets

Poets have always had a deep connection with Death As if, They sort of knew That the occult power that it is made of Is the medium through which The ultimate form of freedom is attained! Poets' deep respect for Death Is as loud as impure love is For the sinners Or as harsh as Gods' punishment is When their words are not taken into account for! Why, It can be as beautiful As divine love is when it chooses To strike a soul, pure and blessed! Of Death have I made my sole aim Living in a world where madness reigns Where senses get overtaken by Maya's force Where traps are laid all the way by the forces of darkness Where the Devil dances over its skies Has brought me to realize that the aches which prick me As cruelly as cold claws would grip my heart Only to lure me to there where sins glow in fires Ready to consume me if I don't bow down to them Are merely temporary and ephemeral, As Death would take over someday And would give me the freedom Which I yearn for so painfully! Pray, life is a ridiculous show It aims to see us follow the masses as blindly as sheep If we choose to stand out as loners We get shamed on all sides, bullied at all costs Prey to predatorial wolves, experienced in the many ways Of how to hurt us, Physically or emotionally! Death and poetry have their hands tied together In a bond which shall never broken By anyone else, Not even by the Gods! Death and I are old friends For its coming do I wait for With expectations ringing loud in my heart As loud as those which would ring In children on the night of Christmas Eve! Poets have always had a deep connection with Death And I, Like so many others before me Can only celebrate its being By living my life while wearing it as a tiara over my head!