Life & Death

Life is an art form.
Love is poetry.
Where souls leave canvas
with words
that they bleed.

Where the skin of a lover
lays white like the moon
in an obsidian sky,
or the winter at noon.

Where the veins that run blue
flow torrent like rivers,
and the heart is the ocean
to which we're delivered.

Where the rain that falls
on a green April day
is the tears of the gods
to whom children pray.

And the clouds that adorn
a blue summer sky
are the heavens above
to which lovers fly.

When their bodies rejoin
the soil and sage, 
and the rivers of blue
no longer rage.

Yes life is an art form,
and love is poetry,
but death is an illusion,
and we the coterie.