A Battle Against Death Poem by Sara Dickson

I leant against the gnarled trunk
Of the tree of the grave
Whose brittle branches are the avaricious hands of eternity
Whose grim eyes mesmerize my own, and
Tempt me unto death's brink.
How easy would it be, to forsake my sword and shield
And find peace, entering into the rapacious void
Whose honey-coated lips whisper softly in my ear
Inviting me warmly to the end, the ultimate certainty...
A silver dagger, alluring, ensorcelling,
Pulls me forward, until my cold hands grasp it,
From under the mephitic roots
Of the tree of the grave.