The Innumerable Deaths

February 15, 2010
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The very first,
the last?
No difference:
all the same

All the same

What was once there,
now gone,

Possessed and empowered,
by a dreadful thing
a beautiful thing,
all the same

And The Mountain looms,
never disappearing,
brooding in its madness

Inserting the two-sided spear
the first time,
the last.
Or is it?

While the jagged creases
flourish in the
dark of night,
the Gift rises from within

No matter the place,
or weapon,
the possibilities are endless
for a death of an Animal.

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