The closets hang open
Leading to the cold magic
Of who I make myself to be
Soft and gray
Choose your grave
Today
I don’t believe in mysteries
In cloudy possibilities
When I leave these swinging doors
I’m who I want you to see
Whatever I choose to be
Impossible to ignore
Unless today that’s what I’m looking for
Life will kill you
This I know
The only question is
How much decay you show
So here I’m dancing
Down your weary street
Daring all the death in the world
To come with me and meet
My shields of silk
Swords of savvy style
Face me here
In this mirror
Where my faces laughs mocking
Beneath its lace locks
And lovely layers
Let death come at me
I know my grave for me
But when you come
When you find me
In my own soft grays
Shut the doors tight
Burn my hidden magic
And teach the young girls this.
Death comes
Through wall
Through lace
Through mirror
Death comes
Be not unprepared
1 comment:
Remember also your Creator in the days of your youth, before the evil days come and the years draw near of which you will say, "I have no pleasure in them"; before the sun and the light and the moon and the stars are darkened and the clouds return after the rain, in the day when the keepers of the house tremble, and the strong men are bent, and the grinders cease because they are few, and those who look through the windows are dimmed, and the doors on the street are shut--when the sound of the grinding is low, and one rises up at the sound of a bird, and all the daughters of song are brought low-- they are afraid also of what is high, and terrors are in the way; the almond tree blossoms, the grasshopper drags itself along, and desire fails, because man is going to his eternal home, and the mourners go about the streets-- before the silver cord is snapped, or the golden bowl is broken, or the pitcher is shattered at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern, and the dust returns to the earth as it was, and the spirit returns to God who gave it. Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher; all is vanity...
(Ecclesiastes 12)
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