Frigid
Open Form
Death will soon creep upon the best of us-
It will stay
From dusk to dawn, unsettling,
Blindly, it cannot be stopped much
Like a moving train. His eyes
Will be a cold dead look,
A cry for help, silence.
A shift from warmth to chill.
And that’s what she sees
Herself as, when she stands in the
Mirror. A cold, dead hope,
That all must understand
That we are nothing,
And that is life.