The Color of Death

For Emily

I could have tasted the cookies that you baked
I coud have written a sort of poetry like your Death
I could have joined you in your solitude
I could have marvelled some of your poems


Dear Emily, your poems I regard in high veneration
they sing a rhythm in my tainted heart-
its as if a silent requiem wants to be heard, listened
I understand how you noticed the purity of white-
for me, it's now the color of death- pure,
when death stings like white-
it illuminates, it gives brilliance-
it is transcendental- the feeling,
sublime.


Death is an ecstacy-
like the power of weeds and foils,
it isn't stoppable-
it is magical,
like your poetry


Dear Emily, They should know the grandeur of your poetry
loathing your poetry is like a feeling when hating one's self


You don't bring any harm to their hearts-
it's just that
they don't allow the penetration of risks,


nevertheless, you share no attention in their poetry
like your own neglection


I'll dance with you Dear Emily,
we'll laugh in our own way,
together with sorrow-
let's be happy Dear Emily
let white be the color of Death.