PART ONE
part one
fragile letters and broken hearts
Read the letters,
Trace the words,
For they are your last hope.
Obsess over the obstacles,
Don’t focus on the rope.
A puddle of grief,
a lake of misery
That is where you fall
Become one with the mystery,
She is above it all
Her voice is soft,
Her hand is kind,
And of course her scythe is sharp
Her cloak is green
Her rose is gold
Hands playing on the harp.
Death, by Mitsuri Akatsuki