Caustic Dreams

I saw death,
under the African sun,
and death was a child,
unborn.
A child that never saw the light of day,
one that never breathed on it's own,
one that never felt it's mother's love,
it's father's touch,
a hug,
a kiss,
or the glow of a smile.
I saw death,
and death reached out,
grasped my heart,
squeezed,
and squeezed some more,
until tears came to my eyes,
and I cried out in pain.
I saw death,
and death lay in a coffin,
pale,
plastered with make-up,
wearing a fancy dress,
and a rictus smile,
permanent and forever.
I saw death,
and it's form belied it's function.
Love died,
hate took it's place,
a family was torn asunder,
and two kids fell in the chasm it made.
I saw death,
and death looked me in the eye,
smiled,
and walked away,
leaving me lifeless,
empty,
torn,
broken,
alive,
unwanted,
even by death itself.

W. James Beard, Jr.