Death keeps waltzing to my door.
Love, Patience and Rationality are at the windowsill
Chittering as birds
But Death is noisy and boisterous tonight.
I know the three clipped mockingbirds
Are beloved and care
But they also teeter on edges of anger and
Bitterness and resentment that rings clear.
Death has magnificent sashays.
You can see him strut the promenade of my heart
With his silky feet and sultry voice.
I worry about him coming tomorrow
I wish he would leave me to enjoy the
Rain on the windowpane.
The town crier kept saying it was
An irrelevant, microscopic thunderstorm.
I wonder then why does it feel so heavy?
Why does it feel so fatal?
Where are the ones who love me?
Death is such a tease.
Rationality always tries to tap on the window and say
Let Love and Patience at least come in.
After all, they are cold
From my addiction to inhumanity.
They want to help in the moments where
I can’t let myself win.
I let them in to dry their wet socks,
But I tell them they cannot stay.