by Megan Hollingsworth

death some fret you are near
though you are here come and gone
leaving remnants of a soul wanting

the hollow one dares not rise in your shadow
so sick is grief
of a thousand lives lived dying
with nothing but disease to unfurl

death you are there
always at the gate of birth

and sad are those afraid to hold your hand
those born to die never cross
the threshold to the fullness of sky

how many lives was it lived dying?

shoots are the hungry ghosts of ancestors
blighted in fear of you
shoots of living stumps remind grief of what is possible
in the dark where roots give birth
protected from a world afraid of being born

Journal, Volume 1 Issue 1