Her hair was black as Death,
Her eyes dark as the blood on her scythe.
The river of life is fed at the mouth
Into the ocean of death
And every current leads there.
Your life is as brief as your death is eternal.
It’s fine to be loved by the very one who kills you
Because life is fleeting and you are to die anyway
So it’s good that at least you felt her love before you met
Love is an eddy in the river of life
And maybe the memory of its movement
Lives on in the ocean of death.
Maybe. You’ll find out
John Tustin is currently suffering in exile on Elba but sees the light at the end of the tunnel. He also likes to mix his metaphors. He also doesn’t know the definition of metaphor. fritzware.com/johntustinpoetry contains links to his published poetry online.