Death is not a mountain
or a woman

or a long drive
in the country

it is not bleach
or a razor

nor is it a gun

It is no friend
to the wealthy
or the poor

and while occasionally
it is a cousin
to war
it is not a sister
to the heart

or a brother
to the hand
(open or closed)

It is mother
to the sorrow of others

a relation to the
father of agony

Death cannot be
a friend
though it has been
a companion
to betrayal

it is not natural
but the end
of nature

Nor is it realistic
or artistic
or honorable

It has no beauty
just the transition
from warm
crystaline idea
to cold
unperturbable fact

Death is not
the reason
for anything

not the be all
or end all

It is a bad blink

a misinformed
completion

It cannot be
studied
or known

and its imagination
is limited

In the court of life
death has no jurisdiction

It is always
guilty
never innocent

it does not mitigate
or suspend

It is not a journey
and definitely not
a vacation
(of the senses
or otherwise)

Death has no
philosophy
or politics

its psychology
is at best
ephemeral
though not
ghostly or
immament

and it is not
social
(nor anti-social)

It is not
meteorological
not snowy
not rainy
not windy
not clear

Nor is it the path
to God
or any other haven
of the soul

Nor the domain
of saints
or the exile
of sinners

No one awaits us
at death

it is an empty kiss
a withdrawn handshake
a slap that misses
the cheek
a punch that goes
awry

It is not a friend
to illness
or heartbreak

it cannot be overcome
by courage
or cowardice

It cannot be seen
known
or admired

It has no taste
no hue
no cry

It cannot see
where it is going
though there is
occasional evidence
of its arrival

It is not a place
a geography
a geology

and most of all
it is not a climb
or even a fall

And despite all this
that it is not

and the power
some give to it

it can be defeated

I have met its
conqueror

I saw her last night
wearing a white bandage
over what should
have been a mortal
wound

She was coloring
a page from a book
about an unattractive
duckling

and with each stroke
of her green crayon
she brought the blank
paper to life

This will to live
that exists within
the heart of even
the smallest
or most fragile
girl

is the arguing weapon
that puts death
up against the wall
hands in the air

arrested
held at bay

a criminal
sentenced to life
by love's
singular glance