Death, is a mother who slits her wrists
and leaves the world without a final kiss.
A father who’s lived long enough to know
he’s lived too much-
One who’s loved the whore
In-spite of her broken vow.
And Death, is a child
late in life on a clear afternoon,
when all the world spins as it should-
one who comes, bewildered but sober,
with eyes blood shot and motley,
a soul who screams a mad rage at the moon
then retires to the shadows of their empty room.
Death, is a poet
high on life, late in the afternoon.
Amberlee Carter
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/intoxicated-by-tragedy/
