He sips silently from a silver plated cup,

No saucer. He seizes all the Fallen

drips.

But he is no saint, no martyr.

He doesn’t have a name to introduce

Himself but we are all

dying

To meet him. He is a quiet celebrity,

Draped in fashions that never

perish.

But we will. We do. We are.

So when the clocks stop ticking and

He knocks on your door,

Take a steadying last

breath

And he will catch you when you

 

fall.

 

 

// I do not own the featured image: sourced http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2015/02/06/the-healing-tea-that-kills.html //