11. Death

Death has the mirage in the dessert

illuminating itself into a beautiful thing,

don't bite back lest you be caught in the snare.

I don't know why the poets and the greats

dream of dying.

Perhaps there is living inside the casket of risks.

Taking the edge of my skin, pushing to exhilaration.

Beauty cant seem to magnify among the garbage for long.

But still her eyes glow, taunting. 

Author's Notes/Comments: 


View amberspoetry's Full Portfolio