Death For Sale

• Jesse Bigmore, Grade 12
• Poetry
• 2007

It's time to be tired,
but he looks to the skies.
All untill the arrows
of dawn touch his eyes.

A breath on Everest,
he's choking on clean air.
Pulling a gasp from lungs
but there is nothing left there.

A soul that is crying,
like coal burnt atmosphere.
Blood and soul screaming,
the held back tear.

You cancer, bitter sweet thing.
Misty hands, ever seizing.
Kiss goodbye the death for sale.
And you may yet prevail.