b u r n t o t e a r s - a personal collective

Poetry | Death of a Newborn
death is a lovely woman
dressed in red
handing out white roses
and black shrouds for your bed

she's no care for your race
your age she does not mind
she embraces all to her bosom
like you are her own kind

and she'll wait up for you
she's as patient as they come
though she has a way of knowing
just when you'll be home

ready or not, she'll take you anyway
steal you away into the night
don't fight her for she's stronger than you
her will you cannot blight

keep a watchful eye for her
as she keeps an eye on you
so that when the right time comes
there will be nothing you can do