She often sat down with Death
And spoke to it calmly
Like one would speak
To a selfish child
Too innocent to understand
The burden of its wrongdoings.
“I’d tell you to stop this”, she’d scold it
“But I know you can’t
Because it’s in your nature to take
And never give back”.
Weary, Death would shake its head
Wrapping black wings around itself
To stifle shivers and hide the tears
Falling from under the dark hood
That covered its face.
“I don’t like it, you know”, it would sigh
And wring its pale hands in desolation
“I’d rather be an angel like any other out there
But I wasn’t given that choice
Just like you were not given one
When it comes to me”.
“What angel would you have been
Could you have chosen”, she’d ask
And Death would raise once empty eyes to her
Now filled with the fleeting glimmer
Of an abandoned dream
Too dear to be forgotten.
“I’d have been a guardian
Never a taker, never a reaper,
Anything but this”
And Death would cry with sobs
Like the wind rustling
Dead leaves in the cold autumn rain.
“It’s alright”, she’d console it
Reaching her hand toward its face
To wipe away the tears
With her scars.
And as she’d gently raise its chin to her
To better see its features
To look it in the eyes
It would shut them tight in anguish
And suddenly vanish
Leaving behind nothing but the shadow
Of her gesture
Hovering over the naked floor.
“It’ll back”, she’d whisper to herself
Maybe in years forlorn
And perhaps then it’ll stay long enough
To tell me
What it does with us
After we’re gone.
*No copying, publishing or reproduction of this text is allowed without permission. Mentioning the author and the source is mandatory: Alexandra Furnea – Gen Underground