Dead of winter

Upon the beach in the dead of winter
Is it cold? I cannot tell. I feel nought but depths of hell
I listen out for distant voices, those who kept their sanity
Laments and shrieks and fear and pain, floating over inky sea

Amidst these sounds comes soulful pleasure
Sounds of those who chose the sea
Now dead, not sad, not pained, nor fearful
Escapees of life’s miseries

I cast my eyes in morbid pleasure
Seeking out that faceless man
A sharpened scythe glints in the moonlight
I toss the coin for another land

I see him point a skeletal finger
At first to me and then to shore
I take a breath and feel the winter
Homeward bound I walk once more

(c) A.L. HARRISSKITT