Sorry for the laaaaaaaaaaack of updates. Been busy with school and an internship. Working on some stuffs too — a couple novels. Slowly but surely.
I’m in the process of compiling some old reviews and literary/film analysis papers to this site. So please stay tuned and tell your friends. Until then, please enjoy a poem. 🙂
The Practitioner of Death
The Practitioner of Death came to visit me today.
He said to me, “My dear Penelope—
It is time for us to leave.”
Frightened, I stalled, and instead invited him in for tea.
We spoke of Life, and Life’s regrets, and yet over
And over he reminded me that after our tea,
It would be time for us to leave.
When his teacup neared empty, only a mouthful left,
I promptly offered my Practitioner of Death another.
He found the tremble in my voice amusing; he said,
“It doesn’t hurt, don’t fret—
Just a simple wagon ride, really, you mustn’t worry—
For truly, I am in quite a hurry. Dear girl, it is time for us to leave.”
I offered him biscuits, I offered him baguettes.
I offered him my maidenhood, I offered him my best!
However, there was no way on Earth that I could sway
The Practitioner of Death.
And so he led me off,
Led me off—
On a wagon ride out west.
Lost was I, baffled and mute
As the wagon lifted off
And we commenced our ride
Through the Sky of Souls.
At my shock, he let out a laugh—
The Practitioner of Death—
“A wagon ride, that’s all I said—
No pain, no fret, so please, just rest,”
Said The Practitioner of Death.
Through the clouds, I saw my home,
A distant blot—
Forget me not!
And soon we stopped at a Gate of Gold,
Where I was told to stay.
“What of you?” I asked my guide,
And with a loud laugh he cried,
“Too soon, I’ll return, with friends for you—
But now just rest, please, just rest—
For your Life starts anew, my Word is True—
Child, trust me now—
For I am The Practitioner of Death.”