he was a tree, struck by lightning.
[tall, thin, blackened]
but his skin was metallic silver
and his hair hung in long tresses
which shone like coal, in its earthy way.
he had a crown of metal
[tarnished silver, like his skin]
except it always shone, even in pitch black dark.
onyx stones smoothed out its sharpness
and he was cloaked in the nothing
that could only be the penumbra of shadows.
and yet his eyes, I think about most.
[they are hardest to remember]
for they were like black beetles in his thin face
which were somehow dark enough
to steal all the light that shone towards them
yet give off the tiniest glint in return.
death came to me in a dream, once.
but he didn't come for me, that time.
[not for anyone, in fact]
instead, he came to assist me
in my forgotten dream situation
where the only way to fix the broken pieces
was to slide back to before they broke at all.
death shared his secret with me
[and wouldn't he have many of those?]
he showed that he was not only the one
who took those who passed their time
but also the one who showed them the path
into the new light of life and rebirth.
I asked him politely for his help
[his smile was kind yet weary]
and as he spun his hands, his skin shone gold.
in his hair grew dainty yellow flowers
and when he held open his cloak of shadows
I embraced him as an old friend.
life came to me in a dream, once.