Who owns those scrawny little feet? Death.
Who owns this bristly scorched-looking face? Death.
Who owns these still-working lungs? Death.
Who owns this utility coat of muscles? Death.
Who owns these unspeakable guts? Death.
Who owns these questionable brains? Death.
All this messy blood? Death.
These minimum-efficiency eyes? Death.
This wicked little tongue? Death.
This occasional wakefulness? Death.
Given, stolen, or held pending trial?
Held.
Who owns the whole rainy, stony earth? Death.
Who owns all of space? Death.
Who is stronger than hope? Death.
Who is stronger than the will? Death.
Stronger than love? Death.
Stronger than life? Death.
But who is stronger than Death?
Me, evidently.
Pass, Crow.
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From guest Sam (contact)
A crow represents death according to greek methology and this poem is probably refering to sylvia plaths miscarriage. x -
...to some people death may have come late, generating its decay to the heart with no absolute promptness in mind, so reulting in the person wailing with desolate hunger, health and its security. Then it could be said when in intensive labour the unborn child is attempting to heal to a world unknown to him, until now. Hardly fleeing from this death, but then it is a barrier and is his fate from birth.
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...on the other hand, simply surviving birth means Crow thrashed death in a fair fight. Although death owns every one of us, we've all beaten it.
We must die, but we have our pride. -
i think he is trying to portray the other side to birth. i mean, all it is really saying is that this little child is living to die that everything that this child is made up of will die so therefore death owns these things.
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heehee...this guy is so screwed up. if you read the poem about the crow, you'll get this. dumbell.
Who is stronger than hope? Death.
Who is stronger than the will? Death.
Stronger than love? Death.
Stronger than life? Death.
But who is stronger than Death?
Me, evidently.
Pass, Crow.
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