Kissing Death
I have kissed that damn devil death
full on the lips of my beloved I sought to revive in vain. Here was no gentleman who stepped in to invite one to glide with him into the ballroom next door. Here was no blessed rest but gurgling struggle, fixed pupils and thick swollen tongue. It was the reaper whose scythe cut a bleeding rose budding into full bloom. Do not tell me this was God’s will. This was no god anyone who’s sane could want. My God weeps to see flesh destroyed, father's light snuffed out and husband's ring returned. My God wails for sons writhing in agony at the lash of torture’s mockery and words of divine despair. In holy communion I have tasted God, and now I have tasted Death. They are enemies bitter. © 2010, Tess Lockhart. All rights reserved. |