Death in all it’s disguises

Posted by yseult on Jan 1, 2009 in Philosophy and Pop Culture, Poetry | 0 comments

Touching your skin with cold fingers,
the sweetest sorrow of all,
pouring itself into every fibre of our being,
and wasting away the fine border that separates the you from the me,
the worst emotions from the best ones,
the hardest memories from the brightest ones,
the bitter moments from the joyful ones.

There is so much life here,
so much future in every cell and move,
so much love, it could not be contained.

My fingers’ trace is followed by my tears,
for love’s constant yearning which cannot ever be satisfied,
for lovers lost in hardship,
for death in all it’s disguises.

Your skin grows colder and colder under my hand now,
and outside the dawn is breaking…