creative writing, Fiction, original piece, poem, poetry, writing

Winters Sky

Daisy chains stitched into her hair

rigidly pinned into a crown

each bud an honourable kill

a new chain for another battle won

no gaps, no losses

as erect as a tree

but as strong as stone

broader than any giant known

armour heavier than marble

plainer than winters sky

she swings her sword high

faster than a shooting star

and jabs it through your plates

puncturing your flesh

exploding like wildfire

decorating the ground red

birds and roses coat her helmet

tricking dying eyes to believe

they’re already in heaven

until she flicks the visor down

forcing birds to flee

petals falling from beaks

leaving weeds behind

revealing eyes as burnt as coals

you’ll screech for Lucifer’s help

creative writing, original piece, poem, poetry, writing

Death’s Life

When Death was born Immortality died,

incurable illnesses encouraged Fear,

and humans clung to Life.

Few cradled Death willingly

and lost breath easily. Others hid from it

while some stood silently next to the cot’s bars,

torn between sickness and sympathy

for this strange creature which killed Immortality.

Death received the same tuition as the other abstracts

choosing to ignore Wisdom, yet scoffing,

and sometimes winning, against Logic.

Love’s efforts at coercion was always a disappointment,

Life refuses to be in the same room,

and the Sun shivers at its gloom.

Even Darkness, too disturbed

by the everlasting, unknown end

will not give Death a chance and be its friend.

Death’s lurking and lack of personality 

made others uneasy, so the Afterlife was fabricated;

It gladly and readily soothes

the paranoid, bitter and miserable mortals

but it’s an unknown ghost

to those indecisive individuals.  

Death won’t confirm this belief.

Why would it when it’s blamed for empty bodies 

and it’s existence is scorned?

Anger emboldens humans

to believe that Death lies.

The irony is that Death is immortal

and most of us want it to die.