Death Left a Box

Escaping unspoken promises,
The landscape moves on,
Like a dying actor,
Its mask is gone.

The mask dipped in blood
Of deep despair
Becomes a mosaic window
Reflecting life's glare.

Disappearing behind stones of feathers
Of brilliant hue,
Appearing to rescue
While giving revenge its due.

Courting fantasy and fiction,
Juggling notice and mystique,
An honest hypocrite of folly,
Leaving the landscape bleak.

Death is like a folded box
Containing treasures we hold dear.
Move it gently by the window,
I will look another year.