A slip of the finger

A cut of the blade

Stare at the red mess forming slowly


Each sprig a taunt

Death revealing its iron form

Daring for another

Just once more,

It whispers

Just once more

Shake it away

Mop up the stooped pool,

But a pool needs more than a rag.

Just once more


It whispers


The rag falls into the pool

Down it goes,

Slipping past the memories behold,

Smiling, crying

Each equal in its gaze.

Down it stays

Death raises its hilt,

Reach for the rag, for the rag

It is empty.

Slip death in its embrace

Muffled cries unheard

The blade of death is gone

You live.