Death's Punishment of Paradise

I perch upon the edge,
eyes peering upon
the soon dead.

White is the bed
upon which she lies.
Like a cloud of sickly sweet jasmine
water drips
into her waiting veins.
Yet she cannot see me
like a vulture on her hospital bed.

She is painted with a smile.
Her tongue clicks as she chatters;
she is alive.
Her heart jogs.
She is alive.
But not for long.

Her voice is one of sugar
ringing loud and warm
until her eyes still of the living,
fall into level with mine.

I am the evening,
arriving in a drab black suit,
decked in buttons from my travels.

The tears in her eyes swim away
like fish in a frenzy
as the raven outcries
foretelling the end of all days.
The human heart runs,
not willing to be caught
by cold, cage hands of bone.
Blood drains away into jagged teeth.
And now she is left as cold as an empty cave
whistling in the wind.

Yet high she flies to snow-topped mountains
and low to the oceans
of tears shed from lovers past.
Away to Eden
to rest at last.

Yet damned am I to
watch a feat
yet remain a servant in the
belly of the beast.