Death by Love
When we think of death,
How do we say people die?
Stabbed, shot, hung or blown apart?
Perhaps, a broken heart,
Or is that too clichéd?
When we think of death,
How do we describe it?
Eternal sleep, heaven, happiness?
Or is it just another world for despair?
When I think of death,
I think of a girl,
With long honeycomb hair
And eyes like emeralds.
When I think of how people die,
I see her smile
Before a long sword is pierced through her back,
The crystal floor below her stained with blood
As her hair comes free from her tightly wrapped ribbon.
When I think of death,
I describe it as being taken from the one you love,
The one you belong to.
When people ask why I'm always so angry and withdrawn,
I give them my honest reply,
I'm dead,
And how did I die?
Simple.
It was a death,
by love.