Friday, June 25, 2010

She died in my arms. (For Brownie.)

She fell from the sky like a shooting star 
In the meadow of a concrete and neon-lit bar 
In death she gained freedom 
From being a loyal four legged. 

Yet i begged; 

I begged for her life 
But still went the knife 
Into the heart, 
Perhaps a tragic death is life's most inevitable art.