Peaceful Visions

As I lie here on the brink of death, 

I see my master 

gently laying on the bed beside me 

through a veil of snow and  

memory.  

A turn of my head and the 

Light flows in –  

it is untouchable and 

sparse like glitter.   

Is it not life

that gives us this feeling 

of impotent immortality, 

that grips our wrist 

and pulls us closer, 

and closer, 

to the ambition that clips 

our wing and makes us fall.  

A staircase spirals 

over our heads 

into the emerald trees above and 

we wait: 

personified glory in ethereal catharsis.  

Pink becomes Blue. 

Day becomes Night. 

We move on, 

seeking a remarkable party 

to shape our souls 

and make us human.  

Cheap blizzards flash around 

my face and all I see 

is red.  

It is Misty around gravestones 

reading “here lie those 

whose names are writ in 

Water.”