(To my readers: This poem is based on my feelings while viewing this photo)
Death becomes me. It picks me apart and then again makes me whole. It does not judge my errs. It is of the forgiving heart that remembers all the good I did and the good I may have been. I dress for no one but me and my eternity. My regret has no place here as I wait at the Golden gate as the angels make final inspections before whisking me away. Beautiful music fills my ears as I find my room in my eternal resting place. Death becomes me now and now I become death.
Death Becomes Me©
By Felina Silver Robinson