Death. So here we sit again after just over a year and you have won the hand. Again.

Your darkness holds many promises, many broken hearts, many tears. Somehow I wish to understand. Somehow not. As the black crow on your shoulder cries for the souls carried to some great place in the sky, somewhere so far away it pierces my soul. The empty seat remains… the empty space remains…

Death. Your sweet promise of relief carries over a path of broken glass, crossed by my bleeding heart. Its empty. Sucked out. Thirsty.

Yet you strangely offer a glimmer of hope as the day rises and I realise another night has passed and the day has broken. Even in despair there is always hope… Pandoras box never quite opened.

I open my arms to welcome your pain again. I open my heart – with pain there is love and it flows from the depths like the involuntary tears running down my face.

Death. I have yet to see your face. My hand is yet to come. For now I welcome you like an old friend. Carry them safely, carry them home…

Until we meet again.