The Hand Of Death

"I need no help" death said "to find my prey"

It's there on arid dusty plains-the toll from aides...

Where elephants and Lions feed with vultures overhead,

Death feasts upon forgotten dead.

Deaths there on Irelands winding lanes,

Where children walked on broom swept streets,

And gathered shamrocks that profusely bloomed,

Now weeds of war within an un resol’ved tomb.

"I will not starve" death said "my coffers there to fill"

Disease and war, all victims wait...all offering an unremitting bait.

Eternal life is promised with each dying gasp,

It's in the cold and clammy hand of death they clasp.

On ancient streets of Jaffa's timeless strife,

Together doves of peace and death await their mark,

In time and place all far away,

Where prayers of peace still cannot death betray.

Bosnian's buildings stained with blood,

Where no one counts those wounds that death has left behind,

Death takes them all with stealth, like giant serpentine,

A patient beast that bellows" They'll be completely mine".

Death is the terror from the bowels of the earth,

But we still living, yet rejoice with every birth,

For hope instills in us the want of life,

We know it's greater offer- know it's glorious worth.

Death sometimes comes in silence,

Sometimes in red and roaring flame,

There is no place to save us,

Death is our hell or paradise to claim.

© 2001 Corrine G Schlessel