Death

Can you guess from which “fairy tale” this particular poem is based?

—

I’m a simple creature,

using simple words,

having simple needs.

I do my job

and I do it well,

with passion and vigor.

My existence is a lonely one,

filled with empty days

and empty carcasses.

Most souls pass through

my memory, like a cloud floating

through a summer sky of blue.

The cloud has no name and no

face to put with its namelessness.

But there were once three,

yes three, brothers who struck

a chord of my memory’s forte.

They were powerful beings,

weighted down with a magic

more noble than even the jungle’s king.

One was strong with arrogance

and revenge, seeking nothing

but the power he could not see

in himself.

The second’s heart overflowed

with sorrow, spilling out in waves

of desperation. He sought control.

The youngest brother, with wisdom

exceeding his years, caught me

in a deathly snare I could not help

but admire.

I retrieved the older two

in a timely fashion,

scooping them up like gold fish in a tank.

The third remained a mystery

worthy of Sherlock Holmes

and his band of merry men.

In due course he revealed himself

like a lighthouse’s beam,

sudden and not easily overlooked.

We parted the living as equal

beings of what once thrived

in this place so destroyed

by Life.