The Death

There was a coldness in her stare,

A tremble in her voice,

Easily distinguishable from the rest,

It was Death in disguise.

I saw it in her stance and color,

That she was here for me,

With a black garb and a grim smile,

She was here to set me free.

I had a pen in my hand,

Thought I should write something about the spur,

Something about the beauty in her being,

Something about the souls lurking behind her.

Boy, was she smart,

She sensed what I was thinking,

Whispered something eerie under her breath,

Taking away my soul, without even blinking.

I could see myself transiently,

With a pen in my hand, dead on the bed,

A word scribbled on my notebook saying 'Art',

And I was the canvas she painted red.

I never hesitate hiding behind her now,

For I am one of the ghosts toted by the 'Queen of Death',

The surreal experience of my life was not anymore,

It was her, who took away my breath.