A Quiet Death

With the dying of the light,
we rail against our injustices, we curse our unfairness.
We yearn for the halcyon days of always,
but I say to you,
be not fooled by the glittering lure of immortality.
Eternity holds more horrors than you can know.
In the folding of the great cloth,
we are all embalmed and bound and buried
under the silent weight of deep winter snow.
There are pale angels that govern these cold lands.
We rarely see them and often we curse them,
but they bring a grace and and a peace.
They move in silence, tending this, their garden.
Frosted and svelte like icicle tips
their gentle fingers quench the fires of earthly suffering.
This is their blessing, this quiet death.


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{Digital Images manipulated in Photoshop}