Death is my friend.
We lie together on the ocean blown sand.
He is my gentle guide and saint.
He's rocked in my arms, and burrowed in my heart.
I found him playing in my crade, when I was just born.
Death is so loved by me,
Even his non-living ways.
As living as I may be,
Death has seen life and death.
Because I have death glam,
My friend looks sweet.
I lie underneath the apple tree with a heart beating
With one whose heartbeat doesn't exist.
But now I must stand up and leave him be,
So I walk in the opposite direction.
Death is a sweet friend,
But I'd rather meet him one day
Far in a distant time,
Then he'll be mine, a friend close to me.
Then I'll be just like him,
Hand in hand, this time matching eath other
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem