Death Changes
Old Death is a scar,
an empty eye socket, a lost limb.
It has been grieved and we leave it alone
most of the time except on long drives
or sleepless nights.
New Death is a police siren behind you,
a baby crying for you in the night
in a house on fire.
New Death is bright red.
Old Death is brown.
We can pick it up and put it down.
New Death picks us up and
puts us down when it wants to.
New Death is a mugger in an alley
on your way home.
Leather jacket, whiskey breath,
fear smell, switch blade at your throat.
That's New Death.
It mugs you and steals your life
for years or forever.
Old Death is a tight uniform you wore,
you try it on once in a while.
You were drafted in the Regiment of Pain.
It doesn't fit, you don't wear it
but you will never be the same again.
You have your memories at that private war with Death.
You are a veteran now.
But the Private Pain mellows into General Acceptance
and the poignancy turns to peace
and all New Death will lose it's sting
with time and God's help forever.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
