1st April
To me, death is distant.
He’s an abstract figure from a cult horror film,
he’s a far off twinkle with macabre glamour.
Death is sexy. Edgy. Riske. I suppose he’s rather cool.
To my father, death is a reality.
As one by one it claims a fatality.
If he looks about him whilst he’s feeling sore
he sees friends that just aren’t there anymore.
Parents, who can’t scold. Teachers who can’t bore.
Children who can’t strive. Spouses who can’t snore.
For him, death is too real.
Ever present. Ever pressing.
Always testing. Always waiting.
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