Behind the mask and smile bright,
There lies a curse of awesome fright.
The empty pits which are her eyes,
Resound with silence of the skies.
Her heart’s so cold, it’d chill you dead,
And yet so many call her to bed.
When with she, at last they lie,
Their soul from them escapes, does fly.
Then from the bower does she creep,
To curl upon the floor and sleep.
Yet when she rises again she smiles,
For to sleep once more she must beguile,
Another poor soul’s last breath,
That all around know her as Death.
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wrote this ages ago and just remembered it. I like the idea but the poem has more rhyme then i usually do, so I can't decide about it. Comments appreciated!
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