Performed by Val Cole

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POEM:

Death has come
praise, no doubt
with/rooted in justification
the feral guise

hit so hard
with a force that
pushed like a great wind
away and in and back into her again

none remained
I ask you now
as gone is the thing
are there any who weep

perhaps one or two
to which birth was
given the bond that
flickered, yes, the

praise would be possible
when that time and
space would be considered
the heart wanted to love

permeable was it not
the dark was let in
where the splinters lived
and therefore, the dim

tree was never seen in all
green youthful roots of hope
its glory lived
buried. Waiting

but there was nothing. The rays could not
permeate. The self could not help
the self and so
death is comfort