Examination At The Womb Door (That Little Death)

Death scratches at my door,  
yet I can not fathom it,  
so I am better than it.  
I can see it with my crow-eyes  
and it is not me, but another  
worming in the grass, half-blind,  
but not deaf.  
It hears me as I call to it:       That Death.  

I scry a branch in the dim light of  
outer space which damply revolves  
around me and I grant it no mercy,  
that little thing which stalks itself,  
and cannot reach me,  
cannot tell me what it is  
or tries to become  
but red spills and a silenced tongue.  
It wills itself away,
pities itself in many ways:       That Death.  
I am not stronger than it, or love,  
but I can outfly its reach, its trials.  
I can eat and peck at its great successes;  
I am fueled by its spoils,  
awakened by its cries.
I hear it stalking me in my mind  
but I shall win by staying of it behind  
watching the little one die.  
The weak sparrow with its meager song  
is nothing to me, nothing to it,  
but to everything:       That little Death.  
Author's Note
Inspired by the poetry of Ted Hughes and written for 'The Hawk In The Rain' comp.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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