Death
I dreamed of my own death.
The wailing sounds entered.
And the soul, from inside, departed.
Those sounds no longer did I hear,
As I was led to the place that was not near.
“You have left the place, at last,”
An angel said to me,
“That was once claimed as the best
Where the angels lived
And goodwill was spread.
Where the woods were dark and deep,
And the singing winds did sweep.
The vast fields were full of verdure,
For cattle to graze, their young to nurture.
The rivers flowed heavy with water,
Sang sweet songs for history a chapter.
Riverbanks invited lovers to sit,
Their pent-up souls awaited consent.
Locked in lingering sweet kiss,
They ran away frenzied at a snake’s hiss.
It was the place called heaven
Where people are bold, not craven.”
Angel said, “Alas! It is now a place
Where men spread hatred,
Where the weak are scared and killed,
Where evil sharpens the knife,
To play with human life,
Where the wicked snatch a lady’s last garments,
Making the world numb, with no comments.”
No comments:
Post a Comment