Death 13

*Written about a tarot card called Death, card number 13*

A slithered moon,
curses the sky.
Blood red clouds,
smother in decry.

Black blades sweep air,
of musty smoke.
A clash with blood red,
the moons provoke.

An unknown figure,
stands alone.
Amongst the black blades,
overgrown.

One arm extended,
to sky height,
to catch the bird of death,
mid flight.

Fingers part,
like starving veins.
A touch of death,
the hand sustains.

Rags of shredded,
fleshy skin.
A scythe in hand,
to rid of sin?

The figure seems,
to stop and stare.
A prediction, you think,
to be beware.

You see this card,
you here its name.
No longer wanting,
to play its game.

But death thirteen,
is not to fear.
It's just a change,
in what appears.

But you can't change,
even if you try.
Everything born,
is destined to die...