Death Poem by Ivy Rayne

Death, my boy,
Is a fickle friend.
One minute life,
The next minute,
Death.

Death,
With her hair like a raven's wing,
and skin like flowers.
Eyes like fog.
Perfume from the dying man's blood.

Cloaked in darkness,
On a battlefield appears.
Silk and satin swish
As she moves,

Taking yet another man
To add to her collection
Of despair and sorrow,
She drinks a widow's tears.

Licking her lips as
Another funeral begins.