Blurred

what becomes of life
when one succumbs to death?

You;
not yet cold
still warm in fact!
but already owned by HIM…

white walls
hollow halls
so near, so far

a cosmic order
of life?

baby cries
You. Must. Die.

Snow;
draws you away
whispers its story
sings sweetly, softly, slowly

You;
feel. no. relief. feel. only.

ANGER!

that life is stolen.
that death steals.

a crimson blanket
covers
THE stolen life;

and you?
in your whitetomb

and your snow?
HE sings sweetly, softly…