To the emissary of death

man always comes with his tales
but what do we make of myths?
when they’re dressed in colors
unsaid to hold what grief is birth from.
how do you tell a traveller that takes
and leaves with a trace to come back tomorrow?
I have sewn robes from your tears
and made a pact with your brother, sleep.
I will tonight join him to eat
hoping you visit someone else.

Ruddapoet