Death Land Close

Death Land Close
by Keaton Foster



Above, below,
A raven floats—
Bird of yore,
Message raw.
Death lands close,
Here, now,
Within grasp—
Yours, not mine.

Let me peer
Deeper still,
Into those eyes,
Seek what most shun—
A truth to pierce,
To flood this mind,
An end I’ll face,
I’ll claim.

Fate and faith,
Threads entwined—
God and devil,
Kindred, not mine.
Death draws near—
Don’t rise, don’t flee—
Show me what must be.

Fear’s a shadow I’ve shed,
Dread a stranger I’ve met—
Two kin, yet apart.
At last, we bow
To what is,
What was—
Fate, no mere word,
No frail ideal,
But my truest stone.

Dark its coat,
Silk feathers gleam,
Eyes like blackened jewels—
A hollow shell,
Soul long flown.
Astute in its silence,
It carves all meaning,
Bears a weight
Beyond our loads,
Aloft, above.

You are real—
Now I see
Why truth feels
Like home.
I’m ready to part,
To shed what’s here
For what’s gone,
Or never will be.

Fear I’ve known—
Now I ask:
Death, land close,
Within reach,
Within truth—
What I’ve felt,
What I crave.
Nothing rings hollow,
Yet all I know
Grows colder still.



Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2008-2023