Death Comes Stinging
P Patti Masterman
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Death comes stinging like a white missile,
White as a blank sky faded at twilight,
Washed by winter, scrubbed by the moonlight.
Death comes poised with no name but yours
And no white flag will avert it's gaze;
Your end game's there, in death's pale face.
Mutable prayers go smoking, unleavened,
Your soul's the mast, in a fiery heaven:
A censor of brass has it's wick unthreaded
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