I know, I know…

I promised to update regularly. However, something apparently happened that caused me to withdraw from pretty much all of my writing endeavors. No journal, no LJ, and very little Twitter or Facebook besides retweets and picture shares. I’m almost ashamed of myself. Yet, I have this feeling that something is the root cause of it, and I will get to the bottom of it, but I will do so in other venues than here.

However, you’re here for my writing, right? So, I figured my next step from that initial, first poem would be the first poem I wrote about Death. Based on the pronouns used in it, this is clearly from before I discovered Neil Gaiman’s Sandman series, and fell in love with Death. No, I actually mean that. If Death actually was Dee Dee from his comics, I would die happily. However, this poem isn’t about her (that comes later… shh!).

The one thing about this particular poem is that I have never been happy with the final stanza. The third line has always felt clumsy and unwieldy to me. Unfortunately, even twenty years has not given me the ability to come up with something better. Such is life, eh?

Ironically, despite my displeasure with Stanza 4, Line 3 (or would that be Line 15 of the poem? Or both?), I remember that I actually wrote this on my wall, in that big, 1″ chisel tip permanent black marker. So, I must have liked something about it, right? Honestly, I think it was my first attempt (or best attempt) at the time to do something in a somewhat serious vein.

Looking at it now, it almost feels unfinished. (*shrugs*) That’s the way of things, though. I may revisit this one day. I may not. I may revisit it, and wind up leaving it alone, while I write something completely different. At any rate, here it is, circa 1992:


Death is a wonderful thing,
Some think it ain’t right.
When he finally comes for me,
I’ll follow him into the night.

Death is a beautiful man,
scarred by some disease.
In the end, he will fulfill
everyone’s needs.

Death is a black rose
tainted by the sun.
And he will be law
when all is said and done.

Death is the end of all things,
So please don’t even cry.
Young or old, ill or well.
We all will die.


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