Death of Death
A razor blade held to the wrist,
Tears cascading down the cheeks,
She looks to the picture on her wall
The epitome if her pain.
The silver blade sweeps to the vein
Yet glances off the skin.
She looks down with her pleading eyes
And goes to try again.
The skin deflects the razor's end
Not a mark takes shape.
The vein remains in tact
The arm reveals no scarlet blood.
She looks at the picture one more time
And sends a lamp crashing against the wall.
A car flying along a deserted road,
The empty bottles scattered on the seat,
The driver's hands begin to shake
Losing control of the wheel.
He smiles on without a doubt
Without a care or worry.
Taking little notice
To the sudden jerk of gravity.
The vehicle careens
Flipping thrice around into a ditch,
The front scrunches up
The metal frame loses shape.
Yet the grinning man,
A bottle grasped in his hand
Stands up and stumbles away.
The family awaits the call,
The haunting fear in their hearts.
Their son, their love, their father
Lays on the operating table.
But instead of hearing woeful cries,
The beeping of the monitor halting,
There comes the sound of laughter
Of miraculous joy.
The doctor shakes his head
Unable to understand,
The certain death shrouding the injury
Had faded away to life,
The man who had his coffin set
Now sat erect upon his bed
Smiling with a new found light.
The whole world never noticed,
Never stopped to think and ponder,
Never questioning the likelihood
Of some natural force gone astray.
For not a soul had been claimed
A body grown pale,
Not a single death occurred,
Never would they realize
Until the very end
That this sudden burst of life
Was due to the death of all.
In a meadow surrounded by desert
Lays the body still,
Scythe bloodied and slick,
Crimson juice coating the land.
There he lies,
The victim of our fear
Death, our friend our foe,
Dead as dead can be.