Death's Work

• Artist: Mutandanstan
• Description: ^^lolz, my mom's brain exploded when she read this^^and then she was like 'do you want death to come to you, does death want you, what is going on in this piece?' lolz xD
• Date: 08/12/2009
• Tags: deaths work

In the epicenter of my sprouting mind, the bird’s eye cries a low-full sonnet to the decay of a living life; still itself, the bird falls into the Fires of Disdain, yet as the fire dies and the ash is all that is left, the lost sorrow of the people mingle among the ashes of yesterday. Blown across the windy pathways and waterways, as ash and dirt intertwine as the Rain God permits to clay, marrying its sculpted statues into the thoughts and emotions of yesterday’s memories. Museums are built, the memoirs places within, yet in order they are not, nor do they stand in any chronological order to the witnessing eye of it who placed memories down. These Museums are locked and bared shut, closed to the living world as Death walks the halls rearranging the recollections of the living and dealing sickness, disease, and plagues upon the unwilling. But who stalks the halls at night, calling sweet words and images of inspiration into ones head, who is the unseen thing that secretes in the darkest corners of ones thoughts and emotions in the hallways of one’s mind of memories…who else but death? That thing with no standard form, no true feelings to call its own, this thing that stalks the halls and whispers inspirations to those prepared; This Death, hated and feared by men, cast into the shadows of history’s messy pages, to grow upon my own neglected knees. Scraped, bruised, and covered in the dirt and dust of the many museums that I visit, where dusting is the top priority and everything else falls into place as I, the Death God, permits. Yet as memories grow older, the dusting falls, slackened by old age, a Christmas of dust fills the museum, towering over the statues of memories; alone I await for your museum.

Comments

[Mutandanstan]

I myself always fancy Death a him, because, lets face it, Death must be super sexy, especially if he looks like the death that I invision^^

[WereSquishy]

slackened by old age, a Christmas of dust fills the museum, towering over the statues of memories; alone I await for your museum.

It makes the setting sound as if death awaits for more and others... or specifically a keeper of her own memories whom already died, but seeks for another puzzle piece waiting to be captured into the quite catacombs with her. Or him. lolz.