Death?

Death is the beauty of life,

I proclaimed inside his eyes,

'What then is life?' -

'Trepidation', His face bright in sun, chin cupped in palms.

He looked static, dauntless like Athena.

'If just life is terror, 

Fright, and Crystal goblets under an attic,

What might do we live for?'

'House of cards - the flipping of fate,

Pine-scented orchards away from the winds,

The Moon in the tree, the grey pigeon on the General's head,

All evening papers blowing down an alley,

And claw-footed tub full of rose petals', I glanced, looked away.

'If human is doomed down to the primrose path, Lord,

And heavens say they yet herald spring, 

Why life is important, death not still is?'

'Child,

Human espouses the road filled with evergreen leaves,

Not ever in life the road filled with wilted leaves,

Never once thinking twice,

Never once thinking it might be autumn in the path,

But sweltering summer in the emerald.'

He stood up.

His star map skin,

And cacophony laugh,

Shone against his tired chest.

I saw,

How all the communion massed back,

Just into a loner's sermon,

Like chalk-stains slipping off his mouth,

Outlining the gigantic promenade.

He tried alone to demesne inside our mind,

Forming parodies and proses,

Trying, imagining why the wonder of lives,

Diminishes under the impression of mortality.

But life is in dalliance with all the graveyard of organs,

Stars, and pale blue eyes.

'In life,

I held cold hands,

Devoid of poetry,

Full of rainstorms.

In life,

We learned to lie,

To live in the beleaguered heartaches,

Remembering once and always,

Death is the beauty,

Death is the beginning,

And the truth of life.'