I visualize our end thus:
crowded, yet not...
dusk as if, though dawn;
dizzy like a balloon
short of breath...
I turn to
graze the floor
with my eyes
one last time
from all senses
as my shadow
...that once most
rises against me
as a servant
it reaches out
to take its
as we meet
vis a vis
Angel of Death I did not recognize thee.
The Angel of Death
The Angel of Death shows up in front of me as I slowly die with the pain I felt leaving my body. It tall with wings made of pure white pearls, each pearl holding a beautiful soul. It has long blonde hair that curly at the ends reaching down to her shoulders and hazel green eyes. It calls my name drawing me in closer and as I get closer it's beauty starts to fade as it starts to turn into myself I walk closer trying to figure out why I look like that. I get closer and the closer I get it loses its wings and it's skin turns a mesh grey with dark black greasy long hair with the face turning into something hideous, by the time I realize what it is ad where I'll end up going with it it's too late and I'm snatched by it and taken to the depth of hell.
My Angel of Death
My angel of death looks,
He has wings of silver and black,
From his back.
His eyes are also silver,
Shimmery and wise,
Pulling me close.
He is gentle,
He is loving,
He is stable,
He is mine.
My angel of death.
Angel of Death
The angel of death has pitiless eyes
His body a collage of your most beautiful lies
Rare, sure, but when he does cry
It’s for the ones who wish to die
The angel of death once told her “no”
“It’s not quite your time to go”
When she sees him she wonders what she owes
And flashbacks to her latest lows
The angel of death told her to watch for knives
He warned her she has no extra lives
Because, really, he hopes she survives.
My Angel of Death is Not
My angel of death has no wings.
Instead, he has hair the colour of night and eyes that carry the oceans in their depths.
His smile, warm and inviting, is a knife in my gut.
My angel of death is no stranger.
Rather, he is the one I loved with a burning flame,
a flame that even now, has not faded to embers.
My angel of death does not tell me my time has come.
Instead, he is the one that whispers, ‘Momento mori’ into my ear,
for everything must come to an end.
My angel of death does not treat me gently.
Instead he breaks my heart, shattering it into shards of glass
that bury themselves into me everytime I breathe.
My angel of death does not lead me into the afterlife.
Instead, he lets me continue to walk the earth.
For while my heart may be broken, the pieces still beat.
My angel of death does not take my soul.
Instead, he saves my life, taking the bullet for me.
He may not be an angel of death, reaping souls from their casings,
But he was my angel, and now he is dead.
Appearance of an Angel of Death
Does this Angel of Death look human at all?
Is it all smiles before we are pulled away from life?
The Angel of Death.
It could look like an oncoming car,
crushing you like a crumpled paper bag.
It could be a plane,
rushing to earth, disintergrating on impact.
It could be a bullet to the brain,
from an unstable person.
It could be a fire,
to burn away the shell holding a spirit.
The Angel of Death,
wears many faces.
It could be yours,
it could be mine.
The Angel of Death is coming,
for in the end, we all get our comeuppance.
Angel of Death
I always imagined the angel of death wore black. A man with pitch black wings that droop with the weight of destruction. I would have never imagined this image of liberty. A woman of maternal love in a yellow satin gown welcoming her children home. Long curls of blond hair falling around a perfect almond face. Yet here she is, embracing me. I feel like I have known her all of my life, though I could not tell you her name. She was there behind me through every storm, but I had never beheld her face. That is - until now. Now she is ushering me home to meadows of sunflowers and fescue. She offers me a freshly drawn bath, like a child who has ceased his playtime. Heavenly scents of a mother's perfume, cinnamon and sugar, curl around her in playful tones. Her wings white, and halo unbroken, not a tear has shed from those bright blue eyes. Whatever it was I had once imagined, forever gone from my mind.
The Face of Death
...I am death
Hear me calling?
You know me by my name
I show no bias towards you
Regarding your wealth or fame
Nor will your affluence
Or your Social fame
Have any effect on my decision
Whether healthy or if you're lame
Your Property and wealth you see
Cannot help you on this day
Material wealth has no meaning
When you cry for help or pray
In your hand is your final card
Be sure to play it well
Because I hold the last play
For your final trip to Hell
It may be hard for some to comprehend, but Death is a woman and so is Life. It is through women that all life enters, so naturally it would be through women that all life exits.
In Judaism she is called Azrael. In Islam she is known as Malak al-Mud. Shintoism has Izanami, the goddess of both death and life.
The Maori have goddess Hine-Nui-te-po. The trickster demigod Maui wanted to make humans immortal, so he transformed himself into a worm. He then attempted to enter her through her vagina and leave through her mouth, thus reversing the natural cycle of birth and death. Hine-Nui-te-po was awoken at once, and crushed Maui to death with teeth inside her vagina. He is considered to be the first man to die.
While many view her in a negative life, she is our liberator. Like how the Hindu goddess Kali teaches us that we our beings of spirit, not of flesh. She liberates us from delusions and false realities. We are freed from our suffering because of her.
Death cannot be reversed, and neither can life. It is fruitless to wish you had never been born, because you are here now. And that is all that matters.