La Mort Est Douce
As you gaze on my face so pale, are you my beloved penitent, does your head bow low?
While in this glass coffin I lie on a bower of summer blooms in perfect quiescent,
Do your tears fall for me, no, rather for the others that stand quietly in the soft glow,
Of the moon in it’s pure form, its lovely crescent.
You dare to invade this, my last refuge from the dark world you know,
Is it your love for me that has you prostrate with grief?
I think not but rather your anger has brought you low,
As they swaddled me in fine linen did you gnash your sharp teeth?
Did the fire of rage burn in your emerald eyes so bright?
Or did a soft sigh escape your lips, a soft sigh of relief,
As you gaze fell on another to embrace in the quiet night.
Laura Kythlene Knight 7-22-2001
Copyright ©2001 Laura Knight
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