[Untitled Poem]

The screams of those less fortunate and wince at the sight of me.
I take no reflex from the hate and the fear at what I receive from thee.
I, the messenger of Death and Life, have found no home but within this morgue.
Now breathe with me, taste the deep ashes of those cremated and forged.
Scream with them now.

Carrying the dead or the unborn, not caring or showing emotion through my mask.
For what of the sanity of I, the man who watches the bodies pile slowly before me?
Ha, 'tis nothing but what one can hope and strive for, to keep thine mind, see?
So through my minds eye I peak past the death, destruction and sorrow.
To what, I reap on the morrow, within sight of tomorrow.
Let the fire fill your lungs, mother's weeps filling your cold, dead ears.

Feel the cold touch your skin, hairs standing up and skin coming thin.
Death is quiet, freezing, daunting, watching you with shallow intent of your life.
Now pray that you are next, as I bury your son in the flames, life fading with life.
I breathe the ashes, as you do now, taking in it's aroma and texture of sorrow.
Still I cannot hum but reap what is on the morrow.
Let your form envelop in fire now, as you go with your child.

Though I keep working, day and night, feeling the stare of Death himself.
Still, I feed the flames, work the fire, push the corpse to the pyre.
Listening to the sermon, words of a damned fool and liar,
I cannot help but wonder what Death hath brought.
Oh the blessed pain he hath wrought.
Now take my word Child, don't wear thin, place my body to the fire and burn me in.

Death had his cold embrace, a moment short, a moment long.
I threw myself to the cold steel bed where I knew I would end,
And now you, my Son, will take my place where I stopped so you could begin.
Watch close, with good intent, and slam the hearth closed tight.
I shall burn, you my Phoenix taking flight.
To my surprise, with death now here, his grip not cold or very near. I, the messenger of Death and Life, have found home in the light.