I have always envy those who have to ability to write poetry. I try so hard to write but my attempts to create a poem that is worthy is some what disappointing. I long to be able to find the words... the words that I have screaming inside of me to get out.... words that can bring emotion to those who read it.... words I just can't seem to find.
I will never pretend I'm something I am not. I was not that great at English or grammar back in High School. I guess I will never be a great poet but yet.... but yet I find my self trying.....
Death is Calling Me
Death is not cold like I have been told
death is warm and gentle, a blanket
that has wrapped it self around me
welcoming me, as if we were old friends…
There is no bright light, no heavenly angel to greet you
death seeps in to your blood- but there is no pain.
I begin to welcome the feeling……
death is neither man nor women-
a beautiful image before us…
I smile at the image before me.
death is neither loud nor quiet-
death gently whispers my name
I can feel it's breath upon me...
Death is calling me- or all along I have been calling to it
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