A poem inspired by Elizabeth Barrett Browning...enjoy!


Blackness descends, or is it a deep, deep red?
Grasping at me, squeezing my heart so tight.
Flailing, ever falling,
In this dark, dark night.
He says to me, "Do you know who it is?"
"No," I say, but then I guess--"Death?"
He laughs softly, his voice not betraying,
And then he has left.
The swirls of darkness, of deep, dark red,
It's hot in here, oh so humid in this place,
I fan myself, hand fluttering,
Wanting out of this suffocating place.
My heart is pounding, a beat like staccato,
Leaving me gasping for every breath...
He's back, his voice a low growl,
He strokes my bare shoulders,
Whispering "Not Death."
I look behind, and finally see his face,
And look at the blue, blue sky above.
No...not death.
Not death, but love.