Death's Wings

Death was a bird that night
An ugly, vicious bird
Death's claws scratched at me
But flew away when I didn't bleed.
As it flew, darkness fell
Wings blocking out the moon.
Death screetched in frustration
When it couldn't break my skin
Death was too obvious
And realised.
Death swooped low that night
And caught her by suprise
Not a sound left its beak, nor her mouth
And death was silently satisfied.
To strike again was simple
Death had learnt a new trick.
And so began a time
That death shed its feathers.

poem by Danielle Guscott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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