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.