The redemption of William Randolph Hearst

When death comes,
it snatches with quick & clumsy
kittens’ claws
in a frenzy of
untrained aptitude.
It comes with all the clumsy enthusiasm
of a teenager.
It doesn’t allow for last words
or unfinished business
or secrets whispered with final breaths…
It does not wait for you to make peace with it
before it carries you out the window.
It’s silent…
no fanfare,
no flock of angels descending from Heaven to welcome you into the
Kingdom of God
no grand requiem
or trumpet solo.
No one plays Taps.
It is
and easy
and messy.
Sometimes there is blood.
Sometimes there is not.
But there is always
and no one disappears
without a trace.
They are somewhere
and very dead
whether you know the place or not —
a mess,
or someone else’s.
There’d be no jobs for
search dogs
and gravediggers
if that wasn’t true.

About allisunknown

26 year-old student, tutor, and writer. Write for Also nascent pedestrian advocate. Twitter handles:
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