I sell collectibles and art online and often find the things I've found have hilarious and at times, dark stories to tell. It's thrilling for me to be creatively random, so always expect the unexpected in the things I share with you.
Death leaned in with a kiss –
stealing my breath away.
He brought me poppy flowers –
blood red with a scent of decay.
Feeling light headed and weak,
I swayed, and he held my hand.
Never would I have guessed
Death could be such a gentleman.
He sang a lullaby into my ear,
and I felt my eyelids droop.
Good night poppies, I murmured,
as Death drew the curtains closed.
Poppies have long been a symbol of sleep and death. Read my haiku poetry about these captivating flowers by clicking —